#spotlight shockwave

[kryptonitecore]

Re-Read: Spotlight: Shockwave

I remember not being a fan of this book the first time I read it. Having re-read it, I think it falls into the Spotlight: Cliffjumper category, where it just doesn’t get a reaction out of me. It has a close commitment to Shockwave’s perspective, almost the opposite of the Cliffjumper issue in that sense, yet I still think that setting up for future storylines takes precedence here over character exploration - this book helps to set up reappearances for Shockwave, the Dinobots, and the regenesis plot-line.

I do appreciate the Dinobots as a contrast to Shockwave, the element of ‘chaos’ that he realises he needs to account for. Also, another Bludgeon appearance! I forgot how much panel-time he had at this point in canon…

Furman’s take on Shockwave is very clearly different from how the character will be presented later in IDW1, with far more focus on Shockwave’s control over his personality than, for example, More than Meets the Eye and its shadowplay-ed Shockwave had. This might remove some of the potential ambiguity about what the ‘real’ Shockwave is like and strengthens the character in a way, but it also potentially undermines a lot of the pathos of the character. I distinctly remember disliking the direction that Shockwave went in towards the end of IDW1, but I’m interested to see if I respond differently on a new read-through, or whether the writers had what was essentially an impossible task: try and reconcile Furman’s Shockwave with Barbers’ Shockwave and Roberts’ Shockwave.  Overall, though, this book was still not doing much for me at all.

[whatudottu]

Ever since making my human Shockwave design, both my original one and this one, I've been thinking of what arm he would have because even if you have access to a cannon arm as a human it's logical to have a functional arm prosthetic maybe idk-

An extra ever since after reading @nukeli 's SG Shockwave fic I've also been thinking of human Shockwave having a donor arm like what happens in the oneshot, it being mismatched because though demand is high supply is very very low and replacement body parts don't last-

[darkcybertron]

damn bro you got the whole squad distraught and confused

[cyberesc]

THE BOY IS MINE. (PART 1?)

pairing: Prohero!Bakugo x Prohero!Reader

rating: angst, requited unrequited love (?)

note: since mha ended I thought I should clean up some of my old drafts, part 2?👀

part 2

The city of Musutafu was alive with chaos, the roar of explosions filled the air as you and Dynamight chased down a villain. Adrenaline pumped through your veins as you leaped from rooftop to rooftop, your focus laser-sharp on the figure darting through the streets below. This villain had been wreaking havoc all day, and it was up to you and Dynamight to put an end to their rampage.

But even in the heat of battle, it was impossible not to feel the tension that had been building between you and your hero partner. Bakugo had always been a force of nature, his presence intimidating, and his skill unmatched.

Although you’ve worked together since you were sidekicks at Endeavor’s agency, your heart still pounded with the thrill of working with him, the current number two hero in Japan. Working alongside him had been both a blessing and a curse—because somewhere along the way, you had found yourself falling for him. And that had complicated everything.

Bakugo had always been focused and determined to reach the top, something he’d spoken about often when you were alone together. It wasn't uncommon for you to end up patrolling with him, just the two of you, sharing quiet conversations during those fleeting peaceful moments. There were times when he opened up, letting down his prickly exterior just enough to show you a sliver of vulnerability. Those moments had led you to believe there was something more between you, something unspoken but deeply felt.

It was why, as you jumped from building to building, you couldn't help but glance over at him more than usual. His face was set in a determined scowl, as always, but you’d learned to read the subtleties of his expression, the way his eyes softened when he was in a good mood, or how his posture relaxed ever so slightly when he was around you. You wondered if he felt the same spark you did.

As a pro hero, it was inevitable for Bakugo to take on sidekicks, a mandatory responsibility held by the commission. Among these sidekicks was Hitomi Mori, aka Shockwave, a newcomer to the agency who had become a thorn in your side. Hitomi had a knack for showing off, constantly trying to one-up you and prove she was the better hero. But it wasn’t just about the spotlight—she also sought Bakugo’s attention.

Your feelings for Bakugo weren’t exactly a secret, not to those who paid close enough attention. And unfortunately, one person had been paying close attention: Hitomi.

Bakugo had mellowed out since high school, the consequences of the war having deep seeded impact. In his own way, he was sweet—people who cared enough to read between the lines would see his kindness in the way he took care of those around him. He’d never admit it but he grew soft, it was evident in the way he handled his sidekicks. He understood more than anyone the anxiety and determination it took to prove oneself as an up-and-coming hero, and he took it upon himself to mentor his sidekicks with a level of care that made others take notice.

You’d catch Hitomi in the break room trying to flirt with him but to his credit, Bakugo seemed completely uninterested, barely acknowledging her advances with a dismissive grunt or a roll of his eyes. If anything, it made her try harder, convinced that his indifference was just him playing hard to get.

But lately, there have been whispers around the agency. Office gossip buzzing with speculation about Dynamight and Shockwave, suggesting that there was more to their relationship than just mentor and mentee. After all, she was a constant presence by his side, needing more training as a newly hired sidekick.

You brushed it off at first, certain that it was just idle chatter, but sometimes doubt crept in your thoughts, couldn’t help but question if there might be some truth to the rumors, even if you didn’t want to admit it.

While you and Bakugo soared through the air, hot on the villain’s trail. You landed on a rooftop, ready to make another leap, when something caught your eye—a massive electronic billboard across the street. It displayed a celebrity gossip segment, the headline flashing in bold, obnoxious letters:

“DYNAMIGHT DATING HIS SIDEKICK? HERO ROMANCE IN FULL BLOOM!”

You didn’t believe it. But when you saw the accompanying photo, your heart dropped to your stomach. The image showed Bakugo—or someone with a striking resemblance to him—with his arm around a pretty young sidekick you recognized as Hitomi. They were smiling at each other, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. Your vision blurred at the edges as the words on the screen seemed to taunt you. The candid moment captured in that photo didn’t look posed or forced—it looked genuine. Real.

For a split second you clung to the hope that it was all a lie, but then you noticed the sign in the background, blurry and unfocused, but unmistakable—a hidden konbini that Bakugo frequented during his breaks between patrols.

It was a place few people knew about, a spot Bakugo had mentioned in passing. Seeing it in the photo made it all too real, solidifying the rumor in your mind.

Everything you had let yourself hope for, every secret glance and every careful word, crumbled in an instant. The world tilted on its axis, leaving you feeling unsteady. How could you have been so stupid? You had let yourself believe that you had something special with him, that maybe he was just taking his time before making a move. But now it seemed that he had only been keeping you at arm's length while he entertained someone else.

“Hey!” Bakugo’s voice crackled through the intercom, snapping you back to reality, but it was too late.

The villain, sensing an opportunity, lashed out with a powerful blast of energy. You felt the impact before you could react, sending you flying backwards. Pain exploded in your abdomen as you crashed into the wall of a nearby building, the world spinning around you. You hit the ground hard, gasping for breath, the wind knocked out of your chest making it difficult to think.

“Y/H/N!” Bakugo’s voice was sharp with panic, but it sounded distant, muffled by the ringing in your ears. You tried to push yourself up, but your body refused to cooperate, the pain too overwhelming.

The villain advanced, ready to strike again, but Bakugo was there in an instant. He didn’t hesitate, unleashing a large blast that sent the villain crashing to the ground, unconscious.

As soon as the threat was neutralized, Bakugo was at your side, his hands hovering over you, unsure of where to touch. “Y/H/N, what the hell happened?!”

You could only manage a weak shake of your head, your vision blurring from the pain and the overwhelming weight of your heartbreak. “’m fine,” you mumbled, though you knew it was far from the truth.

“Like hell you are!” Bakugo snapped, his voice a mix of anger and concern. He quickly called for backup, his eyes never leaving you as he barked orders into his comm. “Stay with me, Y/H/N. We’re getting you out of here.”

Soon enough the ambulance arrived. As the medics carefully lifted you onto a stretcher, you could feel Bakugo’s eyes on you, burning with the intensity of a flame ready to ignite, but you didn’t turn around. You couldn’t be around him right now, not when your heart felt like it was in pieces.

The medics fussed over you, bandaging your scraped and bruised side and insisting that you head to the infirmary for a proper checkup. You nodded numbly, barely hearing them as you replayed the scene from the billboard over and over in your head. The pain in your side was nothing compared to the pain in your heart, the realization that whatever you had hoped for with Bakugo was nothing more than a fantasy.

Later, back at the agency, you locked yourself in the bathroom, staring at your reflection in the mirror. You looked pale, tired, but more than that, you looked broken. Why didn’t he just tell you if he was seeing someone?

The pain in your chest tightened until it was hard to breathe. You remembered the conversations you had shared, how he had told you, in his own way, that dating wasn’t on his mind. That he was too focused on his career, on becoming the number one hero. And like a fool, you had believed him.

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to hold back tears that threatened to spill. Memories of moments between you and Bakugo flashed through your mind, each one now tainted with doubt. Quiet conversations during late-night patrols, times he comforted you during a mission gone wrong, homemade bentos, and the small gestures—like the way he brushed a stray hair from your face or the rare smile he’d give you after a lame joke.

Bakugo Katsuki was a hero who didn’t need distractions, and you were a distraction. That’s all you had ever been. You couldn’t bear the thought of facing him again, of pretending that everything was okay when all you wanted to do was scream at him for breaking your heart.

So you avoided him. In the days that followed, you changed your patrol routes, swapped shifts with other heroes, and did everything you could to make sure you wouldn’t run into him. When he called, you let it go to voicemail. When he knocked on your office door, you pretended you weren’t there. It was cowardly, you knew that, but you couldn’t face him—not when the pain was still so raw.

Bakugo was relentless, though. He kept trying to reach out, his messages growing more and more concerned, until they finally stopped altogether. That hurt more than anything, the silence that followed. It was like he had given up on you, just as you had given up on him.

You never learned the truth about the billboard, afraid that the rumor would be confirmed. You never found out that the gossip magazine had fabricated the whole thing to stir up drama. Bakugo wasn’t dating his sidekick, and he never had been. But the damage was done, and you didn’t give him the chance to explain, to tell you that the only reason he kept his distance was because he didn’t want to hurt you—because he knew he couldn’t give you what you deserved.

Bakugo had always been driven by a relentless need to be the best. His world was dominated by the quest to be number one. In the midst of his single-minded pursuit, he often overlooked the people around him, including you.

You didn’t know it but a part of him cared deeply for you, even if he rarely showed it. He always admired your strength and dedication. You were one of the few people who truly understood the weight of his dreams and the sacrifices he made. That’s what made it all the more painful that he could consider ever being with you.

Bakugo couldn't shake the feeling that he was unworthy of you. He was aware of his flaws—his abrasive nature, his relentless drive, and the emotional walls he built to shield himself. He believed you deserve someone who could be fully present, someone who could offer you more than just fleeting moments of affection with his chaotic schedule.

He feared that your love and commitment might be wasted on someone who couldn’t reciprocate it in the way you truly deserved. So, he kept his distance, believing it was for the best, protecting you from the inevitable heartbreak.

His fears were solidified by the silence that followed your last encounter, Your unanswered calls and messages were a painful confirmation. The way you avoided him—your refusal to meet his eyes, the abrupt end to your conversations—only reinforced his beliefs that he couldn’t be what you need.

As much as you tried to convince yourself that you were better off, that it was better to focus on your own career, your own path as a hero, the ache in your chest refused to fade. The image of Bakugo smiling at someone else, was burned into your mind, a constant reminder of what could have been.

What should have been.

But it wasn’t, and you didn’t know how to move forward when it was still dragging you down, pulling you under with every step you tried to take.

© property of cyberesc 2024. please refrain from plagiarizing any of my works and do not repost/edit/translate/copy onto any other sites.

[kira-dofc]

Bodyguard! Gojo x K-pop Idol Male reader

Part 1

Part 2

Notes: Sorry I was inactive for so long 😔 the Kuroo x male reader is killing me idk what to write so I js thought to myself what if I'd just made one for Gojo? Well anyways yes there's going to be a part 2 of this and yes I'm working on Kuroo 💖

Word count: 2400

Warnings: none 💖

-

Oh, to live a life like yours. You’re successful beyond measure, with a voice that can mesmerize, moves that can captivate, and a bank account that reflects your hard-earned fortune. But more than all of this, you are stunningly attractive. Fans fall to their knees at the mere sight of you, screaming your name with fervent adoration. Every world tour you embark on with your group sees you receiving the loudest chants, the most impassioned cries. You are undeniably the favorite, the center of attention in every sense.

Your popularity knows no bounds, transcending borders and cultures. Men and women alike would go to extraordinary lengths just to catch a glimpse of your perfect figure. Who wouldn’t? Perfection seems to be synonymous with your name. Every time your group makes a comeback, it is you who shines the brightest. The camera adores you, the spotlight gravitates towards you, and almost all of the lines in your songs seem to be crafted just for your voice. You are, without a doubt, the nucleus of your group’s immense success.

The world is in awe of you. Fanboys and fangirls from every corner of the globe idolize you, dream about you, and dedicate their lives to following your every move. Yet, amidst this whirlwind of fame and admiration, one thing perplexes everyone. Why, with all your perfection, are you still single? Any idol would be ecstatic to be with you, regardless of gender. Your charm knows no boundaries, and your appeal is universal. It’s a mystery that keeps fans up at night, fantasizing about the possibility of one day being the one to capture your heart.

Speculation runs rampant. Fans weave intricate fantasies where they imagine themselves by your side, filling the role of your perfect partner. Despite their daydreams, no one can figure out why you remain unattached. It's a paradox that adds to your allure, making you even more enigmatic and desirable. They imagine a million scenarios, all the while hoping that perhaps, just perhaps, they might be the one to break your spell of solitude.

But what the world doesn't know, what they couldn't possibly fathom, is that you've been in a relationship for almost two months now. The very day your group made its most recent comeback, you found yourself entangled in a romance that has brought a new kind of light into your life. The secrecy surrounding your relationship only adds to its intensity. It’s a connection built on mutual understanding, shared dreams, and a love that transcends the superficial adoration you receive from the masses.

The reveal of your significant other will be nothing short of earth-shattering for your fans. They’ve spent countless hours speculating about who could possibly be worthy of your affections. When the truth comes out, it will send shockwaves through your fanbase. The person you've chosen isn't just any idol; they are someone who matches your perfection, complements your strengths, and fills your heart in a way that no one else could.

In the end, the world will see that behind your flawless exterior, behind the spotlight and the chants, there is a person capable of deep, profound love. Your fans will be surprised, yes, but they will also come to understand that even someone as perfect as you deserves to experience the joy and intimacy of a genuine relationship. And as they daydream about marrying you, they'll have to come to terms with the fact that your heart already belongs to someone extraordinary.

-

4:00 a.m. The plane touched down, marking the penultimate stop of your extensive world tour. Just one more show remained before you could finally indulge in a well-deserved rest. You gathered your handheld bag, stepping off the aircraft with a sense of weariness and anticipation.

As you approached the "Arrivals" section of the quiet airport, you noticed the stark contrast between the calm you expected and the frenzy that awaited you. Despite the ungodly hour, paparazzi had gathered in droves, their cameras flashing incessantly, almost blinding you with their intensity. The cries of “Y/N! Over here! Y/N! Y/N!” pierced the early morning silence, mingling with the shouts of enthusiastic fans who seemed undeterred by the time.

You sighed, mustering a smile for the cameras. It was an experience you had grown accustomed to, yet it never ceased to astonish you how dedicated your fans were, even at such an hour. As you continued to navigate through the cacophony of lights and voices, your mind drifted to the comfort of the hotel room awaiting you.

Suddenly, the chaotic crowd shifted, and out of nowhere, a fan broke through, sprinting towards you with an intensity that caught you off guard. Your heart raced, but before you could react, your personal bodyguard, Gojo, intervened. He stepped in front of the fan with a menacing presence, his cold stare stopping them in their tracks. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," he said, his voice low and threatening.

The fan recoiled, visibly shaken by Gojo’s imposing figure, and quickly retreated back into the crowd. Gojo turned to you, concern etched on his face. "You okay, sir?" he asked, his voice softening as he etched a reassuring smile.

"Y-yes, thank you!" you stammered, bowing slightly as you felt a blush creep up your cheeks. You were grateful for his protection, though his proximity always seemed to make your heart flutter in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

A van soon arrived to transport you and your group to the hotel. The bodyguards formed a protective circle around you all, ensuring your safe passage into the vehicle. The drive was mercifully short, a brief 30-minute journey that allowed you a moment of respite from the relentless pace of your tour.

Upon reaching the hotel, the sense of exhaustion weighed heavily upon you. The events of the day had drained you more than usual, and all you could think about was the comfort of a bed. The receptionist greeted you with a polite smile, handing over the keycard to your personal room.

You thanked them and made your way to the elevator, your body moving on autopilot. The elevator doors closed, and you leaned against the wall, letting out a deep breath. The journey to your designated floor felt like an eternity, each second dragging as your mind wandered to thoughts of sleep.

Finally, the doors opened, and you stepped out, navigating the corridor to your room. You swiped the keycard, the door unlocking with a soft click. As you entered, you took in the serene ambiance of the room, a stark contrast to the chaos outside. The bed looked inviting, and you could almost feel the soft sheets against your skin.

You set your bag down and took a moment to appreciate the solitude. The tour had been exhilarating, but it had also taken its toll. As you prepared for bed, your thoughts drifted to Gojo’s protective presence and the fleeting moment of connection you felt with him. It was a small comfort amidst the whirlwind of your life, a reminder that even in the chaos, there were moments of genuine human connection.

Finally, you slipped under the covers, letting the exhaustion wash over you. The last thought before you succumbed to sleep was of the final show tomorrow and the promise of rest that lay just beyond it. The world outside could wait; for now, you were content to let the quiet embrace of sleep take you away.

'

You woke up with a sudden woozy feeling, your eyes reluctantly opening to the glow of the afternoon sun filtering through the curtains. "3:00 p.m.," you groaned, checking your phone for the time. You stretched, blinked, and smacked your lips as you stared at the blank wall in front of you, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep.

"Woof woof!" Your dog, Cherry, whom you managed to bring along despite the hectic schedule of your world tour, barked enthusiastically at you. He wagged his tail back and forth, jumping onto your lap with a joyful energy that brought a smile to your face. You patted his head, feeling the softness of his fur beneath your fingers. "Good morning, Cherry," you murmured, though it was well past noon. "Let's go. I'm so hungry..." You squeezed his cheeks affectionately before getting up and heading out of your room.

Before thinking about food, you decided to freshen up with a shower. Grabbing a towel from the neatly arranged drawer, you made your way to the bathroom. The hot water cascading down your body felt rejuvenating, washing away the exhaustion from your travels and performances. You stood there for a while, letting the steam envelop you, a rare moment of peace in your otherwise hectic life.

Once you were done, you dried off and rummaged through your luggage, looking for something comfortable to wear. Settling on a plain shirt and a pair of black jogging pants, you felt a sense of relief. The casual attire was a stark contrast to the elaborate costumes you wore on stage, and it felt good to just be yourself for a while.

With two days until your next concert, you decided to take it easy and rest. You picked up your phone and thought about how to pass the time. An idea struck you—why not do a livestream on Instagram? It had been a while since you connected with your fans in such a direct way, and it seemed like a good way to unwind.

Setting up the livestream, you watched as the viewer count quickly climbed, reaching 15,000 and still rising. "How's your day?" you read aloud from one of the comments. "Nothing much really, I'm just soooo tired," you chuckled, scrolling through more questions. The familiar 'will you marry me Y/N' and 'are you dating anyone' questions popped up, causing you to smile wryly. It was flattering, but also a bit overwhelming.

"Y/N, what do you think of Kim Chaewon?" another question asked. You raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. "Hmm, she's nice, I guess. Also, if this is one of your guys' traps, I'm not falling for those anymore." You stared into the camera, your fans admiring you through their screens.

As you continued to interact with your fans, you suddenly heard the sound of your door opening. A wave of panic washed over you. Had someone broken in? How could they have gotten past security? You had sworn you locked the door. Your mind raced with possibilities.

The door opened wider, and you saw a white-haired man kneeling, putting his shoes away. "Babeeee, what do you want to eat? Do you want to get it delivered, or do you wanna go out?" His voice was casual, but it sent a shock through you. You gasped, trying to quickly turn off the livestream, but it was too late.

The comments exploded in a frenzy:

"BABE?????"

"WHO IS THAT 😭😭"

"HE'S DATING SOMEONE!?!?!?!?"

"IT SOUNDS LIKE A GUY"

"OMGGGGGGGGGGGGG"

"WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT BABE MEAN???"

You panicked, letting out a little squeal as you finally managed to turn off the livestream and shut your phone. "GOJO!" you screamed, your heart pounding in your chest.

"What?" he replied, looking at you with a mix of confusion and amusement.

-

"What do I do? What do I do? What do I do..." You paced back and forth, muttering the same words over and over, your mind racing. Gojo watched you, a smirk playing on his lips.

"You know, it's not half as bad," he said finally. "People will know that you're my property from now on."

"Still! I never wanted them to find out this way..." you sighed, collapsing onto the couch beside him. The weight of the situation settled over you, a mix of anxiety and resignation.

"It'll be okay. No matter what, I'm always with you." He reached out, touching your chin gently before pulling you into a hug. You hugged him back tightly, the comfort of his embrace grounding you.

"Thanks..." you whispered, feeling a sense of calm wash over you despite the chaos that had just erupted.

After a moment, you pulled back, determination in your eyes. "I need to do this right," you said. "I'll post a confession about us dating. It's better than letting rumors spiral out of control."

Gojo nodded, his expression serious. "Whatever you decide, I'm here for you."

Taking a deep breath, you picked up your phone, opening your Instagram app once more. You composed a heartfelt post, explaining how you had been dating your bodyguard, Gojo, for a while and how much he meant to you. You acknowledged that the livestream slip-up wasn't how you wanted to reveal your relationship, but you hoped your fans would understand and support you.

As you hit 'post', a sense of relief washed over you. It was out there now, and there was no turning back. You and Gojo sat together, waiting for the inevitable reactions. Notifications started flooding in almost immediately, a mix of shock, support, and a few inevitable negative comments. But overall, the response was more positive than you had expected.

Your fans, though surprised, expressed their happiness for you, many of them emphasizing their continued support no matter what. It was a heartwarming realization that even in your highly publicized life, there were people who genuinely cared about your happiness.

You turned to Gojo, a smile playing on your lips. "Looks like we're officially out in the open now," you said.

He grinned back, squeezing your hand. "About time," he replied. "Now, about that food—I'm starving."

You laughed, the tension easing from your shoulders. "Let's get something delivered. I think we've had enough excitement for one day."

As you placed the order, you felt a sense of peace. The world knew about your relationship, and while it wasn't how you planned, it felt good to no longer hide. With Gojo by your side, you knew you could face whatever challenges came your way. And with a concert in two days, you had plenty to focus on. But for now, you were content to enjoy a quiet evening together, knowing that no matter what, you had each other.

[katzske]

Thoughts on Earthspark Season 2 (first half)

Spoiler Free:

I must admit I’m dissatisfied.

The animation and rendering definitely looks cheaper. Sometimes it feels like frames are missing, animations not polished, scenes not fully rendered. 2d and 3d poorly blends. It’s quite noticeable unfortunately. Characters also do the TFP Megatron stare now.

That being said, time was taken to revisit old models of characters and give them a new appearance. (4 i’ve noticed) It makes sense given a lot has changed during one year time skip.

The writing often feels either like exposition dumping or naruto filler episodes. I was never at the edge of my seat even during the climax. I ended up skipping through episodes due to the lack of relevant plot information.

Something ES managed to maintain were carefully composed shots that make great still images. While that’s nice for screenshots and redraws, I also feel like it’s the only unique aspect of ES’ animation style that remained. The rest, as previously mentioned, has lost quality.

Character Details I’ve noticed and want to talk about (spoilers ahead)

half of season 2 part 1 is filler. optimus trailer episode, great america with cosmos, a pachycephalosaurus-truck fighting mushrooms, hashtag taking ten years to dispose of hard drives…. each episode did have a few minutes of either cute or important moments. but the majority is a waste of time.

I was hoping that we would learn more about the decepticons. now that they’re free, what are they up to? how are their dynamics? how did season 1 finale change their perception on things? would they try to convince the terrans THEY are the good guys? nothing like that though.

There is no satisfying character development for starscream. ES Starscream was perfect to explore a more neutral version of him, who does not do bad things out of pleasure, but due to necessity; following his desire to be free. In the show he mentions he wanted to get rid of his oppressors (in his eyes autobots and humans), but a real “bruh” moment was when he told Hashtag the only reason he opened up to her last time was to tell her “take care of yourself first”. It completely disregards the fact he came to help in the season 1 finale after reflecting on Hashtags words. It also aggravates me that the writing could have been a very easy fix. “hey i’m not being selfish by destroying this town. im doing this for the decepticons, we have lived under the control of the autobots and then of humans. this needs to stop, we deserve freedom and i will do anything it takes.”

the show managed to establish some friction between starscream and shockwave but for deception standards it was very tame. overall i think it was written okay; he purposely let the Terrans escape with the fragments, and he bailed on Starscream once he went bonkers. I hope that he gets to be a Decepticon leader in the second half; i don’t think we have seen that in any TF TV show before. i also like that his antennae and eye color give away his emotions now.

i feel like the autobots are treated even worse than the decepticons this season ngl. they merely exist; and when they do have the spotlight it’s often for comedy.

why the fuck did shockwave not wait for hashtag to just dump the hard drives and leave. if someone walked up to me yelling “give me your trashbag” as i’m trying to dispose of it i’d be weirded out too lol.

i hope the chaos terrans don’t return. aftermath imo was, plot wise, redundant. spitfire at least was interesting and had an impact.

i wish there were more interesting fights like in season 1 instead of, oh no they’re hitting the trailer with sticks, oh no we are an abomination of dinosaur and vehicle for what feels like 15mins straight. i miss seeing soundwave slay.

[mattrempeswife]

A SURPRISE CAMEO

matt rempe x fem! reader

synopsis: you’re a fun, happy mom who’s been raising a three-year-old boy, William Rempe, with your long-time partner, hockey player Matt Rempe. William, with his adorable brunette curls that match Matt’s, has been kept out of the spotlight to protect his privacy. But when you visit Matt’s sister, Alley, she films a TikTok video featuring William, marking his first public appearance. With your approval, the video is posted, sending shockwaves through Matt’s fanbase, who are seeing his son for the first time. The fan response is overwhelming, and you, Matt, and William must navigate the excitement while maintaining your family’s boundaries.

warning(s): contains themes of privacy invasion, social media attention, and navigating fame as a family.

“Mommy, look! I did it!” William’s voice rang out through Alley’s apartment, his face lighting up with pride as he held up the completed puzzle for you to see. His brunette curls bounced as he hopped in place, his energy boundless as always.

You beamed and clapped your hands. “That’s amazing, buddy! You’re getting so good at these!” You bent down and gave him a big hug, ruffling his curly hair with affection. Being William’s mom was the greatest joy of your life, and you always tried to make his world as fun and exciting as possible. He was an energetic little boy with Matt’s brown hair and a smile that melted your heart every time.

Matt grinned from the kitchen, where he was teasing Alley about her cooking. “Looks like someone’s a puzzle master just like his mom,” he joked, his deep voice filled with pride as he watched you and William.

“Oh please, don’t let him get my brain,” you teased back, laughing as William giggled and squirmed in your arms. “Let’s hope he gets your skills on the ice instead.”

Alley suddenly turned to you with an idea sparkling in her eyes. “Hey! What do you think about William making his TikTok debut today? We could do something cute, like a dance challenge. I bet your followers would love it,” she suggested, glancing at her phone.

You laughed, shaking your head, “Oh, Alley, I don’t know… You know we’ve been keeping William off the internet. But…” You looked down at your son, who was now looking up at you with wide, excited eyes.

“Can I, Mommy? Can I be in Auntie’s video?” he asked, his little voice filled with excitement.

You hesitated, but seeing the happiness on his face made you soften. You and Matt had always kept William private, wanting him to live as normal a life as possible. But this was different—this was fun, lighthearted, and most importantly, something William wanted to do.

You looked over at Matt, who gave you a reassuring smile. “It’s up to you,” he said, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. “I’m okay with it if you are. Besides, it might be nice for everyone to finally meet the little guy.”

You sighed, but it was hard not to smile. “Alright,” you said, looking down at William’s hopeful face. “Let’s do it. But just this once, okay? No pressure.”

William jumped up and down, cheering, “Yay! I’m gonna be in Auntie’s video!”

The living room became the perfect stage as Alley positioned her phone to capture the dance. You, Matt, and William were all laughing as Alley led William through the simple steps. He wasn’t the best dancer—his little feet stumbled a few times—but his enthusiasm more than made up for it. His adorable curls bounced as he followed Auntie Alley’s lead, throwing his hands in the air and kicking his legs in every direction.

You watched with pure joy, cheering him on. “That’s it, baby! You’re killing it!” you said, clapping along and even jumping in for a few steps to dance beside him.

William squealed with laughter, especially when Matt joined in, towering over everyone with his goofy dance moves. For a big, tough hockey player, Matt didn’t have much rhythm, but it was all in good fun, and you loved seeing him let loose with William.

After a few takes—and lots of laughter—Alley stopped the recording and began editing the video. She added some fun music and a couple of silly filters, giving it a playful feel. “Alright, I think we’ve got it!” she announced proudly. “You guys ready to see this masterpiece?”

The final result was a thirty-second clip of William and Alley dancing, with you and Matt jumping in halfway through to make it a full family affair. The video was sweet, innocent, and filled with pure joy.

“Okay, here we go,” Alley said, fingers hovering over the ‘post’ button. “Are we ready for William’s big debut?”

You glanced at Matt, who nodded encouragingly. “Let’s do it,” you said, smiling.

Alley hit post, and within seconds, the video was live.

At first, nothing seemed unusual. The video got its normal number of likes and comments from Alley’s followers. But about an hour later, things started to snowball. Alley refreshed her TikTok and gasped. “Oh my God, it’s going viral.”

Matt leaned over her shoulder. “Already?”

You hurried over, heart pounding as you saw the video’s view count skyrocket. Comments were flooding in, faster than you could read them.

“Oh no,” you said, feeling a wave of anxiety. “They’ve noticed it’s William, haven’t they?”

“Yep,” Alley said, her eyes wide. “They definitely have.”

Comments on the TikTok Video:

@HockeyFanForLife: Is that Matt Rempe’s kid?!?! William is so freaking cute!

@RempeSuperFan: OMG William looks JUST like Matt 😍 Those curls! I had no idea he even had a son!

@HockeyMomma25: Finally seeing William after all this time! What a cutie! And you’re such a fun mom 🥰.

@PuckLover4Life: Matt and William dancing together? My heart can’t take it!

@NHL_Legend88: I respect Matt and [Your Name] so much for keeping William private for so long, but this video is EVERYTHING.

@RempeNHLFandom: I think this is the first time we’ve ever seen William Rempe! He’s adorable! Great job, Mom and Dad!

Your phone buzzed with notifications as fans on Twitter caught wind of the video.

Fan Twitter Post:

Ami (Matt’s version)

@RempeArmy

BREAKING NEWS: Matt Rempe’s son, William, just made his first public appearance in his sister Alley’s TikTok video!! Everyone, meet the cutest little future hockey player 🏒🥰.

#MattRempe #RempeFamily #WilliamRempe #NHL #HockeyDad

Comments from Twitter:

@PuckFever15: William Rempe just BROKE the internet. His curls!! He’s so much like his dad 😍.

@IceQueen92: I love how fun this family is! You can tell Y/N is such a fun mom, and William’s got the best dad ever. I’m melting!

@GoalieGirl87: Seeing Matt, Y/N, and William dancing together is honestly the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Can we get more Rempe family content??

@FanOfTheIce: Okay, but can we talk about how Y/N is like the coolest mom ever?? William is so lucky to have a fun family like this.

You couldn’t believe how quickly things were escalating. The video was everywhere—TikTok, Twitter, even Instagram as fan accounts started sharing clips. While the comments were overwhelmingly positive, you couldn’t shake the feeling of nervousness creeping in. You had wanted to keep William out of the public eye for so long, and now it felt like the floodgates had opened.

Matt must have sensed your tension because he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close. “Hey, it’s okay. The fans are loving it, and so far, no one’s being invasive. We’ll keep it light, like this video. If we don’t want William to be in more stuff, we don’t have to.”

You nodded, feeling his calm energy wash over you. “Yeah… I just didn’t expect this much attention so fast.”

“It was bound to happen eventually,” Matt said softly. “But we’ll control what happens next. William’s happiness comes first, and we’ll protect that.”

You smiled up at him, feeling reassured. Matt had always been your rock, and you knew he would never let the craziness of his career overshadow your family’s happiness.

Later that night, as the three of you cuddled on the couch that night, William snuggled between you and Matt with his head resting on your lap, you couldn’t help but smile. He had no idea that he’d just become an internet sensation, and you were perfectly fine with that. For him, it had been just another fun day spent dancing with Auntie Alley.

“Did you have fun today, baby?” you asked, brushing a hand through his curly hair.

“Yeah,” William murmured sleepily, his voice soft. “I liked dancing with Auntie and Daddy. Can we do it again?”

You laughed quietly, your heart swelling with love for this little boy. “Maybe someday, sweetie. For now, it’s bedtime.”

As Matt tucked him into bed, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. Fame, social media, and fan attention could all wait. Right now, you were just a family, and that was all that mattered.

want another part? or a series, let me know!!

————

like, reblog and feedback are very much appreciated. follow for more fanfiction!!

[muiitoloko]

11 o'clock girl

Summary: The sheriff notices you and makes you the 11 o'clock girl.

Pairing: Sheriff of Nottingham × Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut, questionable consent, degradation.

Author Notes: Hey folks! First off, a big shoutout to all 150 of you wonderful followers! *pops open a bottle of budget-friendly champagne* Now, let me tell you about my recent dive into the cinematic masterpiece that is "Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves." Can we just take a moment to appreciate Alan Rickman's brilliance in that movie? He practically swiped the spotlight from Costner like a pro pickpocket!

So, I decided to scribble down a few thoughts about the character, but fair warning, I might have taken some creative liberties here and there. So, if the Sheriff of Nottingham ends up doing something completely outlandish, just roll with it, okay? Oh, and I should probably mention that I didn't bother proofreading this gem. Hey, blame it on my laziness! But I promise I'll clean up the mess later. Cheers to that! 🥂

As a lowly servant in the castle of Nottingham, you've always known the dangers of catching the Sheriff's eye. His reputation for cruelty and ruthlessness precedes him, and you've seen firsthand the consequences of crossing him. But when the Sheriff notices you, it's not fear that grips your heart—it's a chilling sense of dread mixed with a strange fascination.

At first, it's just a fleeting glance, a passing acknowledgment of your presence as you go about your duties. But soon, those glances turn into lingering stares, his piercing brown eyes boring into your soul with a hunger that sends shivers down your spine.

You try to keep your distance, avoiding him whenever possible and praying that he'll lose interest and move on to someone else. But the Sheriff is relentless, his obsession with you growing with each passing day until it becomes impossible to ignore.

One night, as you're tidying up the Great Hall after a banquet, you feel his presence behind you, his breath hot against your neck as he leans in close. "You have a name, don't you?" he murmurs, his voice sending a chill down your spine.

You nod nervously, unable to speak as fear grips your throat like a vice. But the Sheriff doesn't seem to notice—or perhaps he just doesn't care—as he continues to hover close, his gaze burning into your skin with an intensity that makes you squirm.

"I want you," he said abruptly, his words sending shockwaves of terror through your body. The implication hung heavy in the air, leaving you trembling with fear at the thought of what he might do to you.

But before you could respond, the Sheriff gave you a chilling command. "Come to my quarters at 11," he instructed, his voice dripping with authority. "And don't be late."

You nodded numbly, too terrified to refuse as the Sheriff smiled contentedly to himself before leaving, leaving you shaking in his wake. As you stood alone in the Great Hall, the weight of his words settled over you like a suffocating blanket, filling you with a sense of dread and helplessness.

The thought of what awaited you in the Sheriff's quarters made your stomach churn with nausea, but you knew that disobeying him was not an option. With a heavy heart, you resigned yourself to your fate, knowing that you had no choice but to obey his command.

As the clock struck 11, you found yourself standing outside the Sheriff's quarters, your heart pounding in your chest as you knocked on the door with trembling hands. The seconds stretched into eternity as you waited, the anticipation building with each passing moment until finally, the door swung open, revealing the Sheriff standing before you.

He was dressed only in his pants, his black hair tousled and his brown eyes gleaming with amusement as he greeted you with a sly grin. "Ah, the 11 o'clock girl," he purred, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. "Right on time, as always."

You swallowed hard, your mouth dry with fear as you stepped into his quarters, your eyes darting nervously around the room. But before you could utter a word, the Sheriff turned away from you, his attention drawn to the woman lying in his bed.

"Time to go, darling," he said casually, his tone dismissive as he addressed the woman who lay beside him. "You were the 10:45 girl, weren't you? Off you go now, before I lose interest."

The woman scrambled to get dressed, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she hurriedly gathered her belongings and fled the room, leaving you alone with the Sheriff once more. As the door closed behind her, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease wash over you, the realization sinking in that you were not the only one he had summoned tonight.

But as you looked at the Sheriff, his gaze lingering on you with a hunger that sent a chill down your spine, you pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the task at hand. You had been summoned here for a reason, and now it was time to face whatever fate awaited you.

But as the Sheriff approached you with a predatory gleam in his eyes, a wave of doubt washed over you, your mind reeling with questions and uncertainties. Did you truly want this? Did you have any choice in the matter?

As he drew closer, his hands reaching out to touch you, you couldn't help but flinch, your body recoiling instinctively from his touch. But the Sheriff paid no mind to your hesitation, his eyes blazing with desire as he closed the distance between you, his lips brushing against yours in a rough and possessive kiss.

As the Sheriff pulled you into his embrace, his hands roaming over your trembling form, a shiver of anticipation ran down your spine. Despite your fear and uncertainty, there was something undeniably thrilling about being in the presence of such a powerful and commanding man.

"You're trembling, my dear," the Sheriff remarked, his voice dripping with amusement as he leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear. "Nervous, are we? Or perhaps just excited to finally be in my arms?"

You couldn't help but blush at his words, your cheeks burning with embarrassment as you struggled to maintain your composure. But the Sheriff only chuckled darkly, his hands wandering lower as he pulled you closer, his touch sending sparks of desire coursing through your veins.

"Tell me, darling," he murmured, his voice low and husky as he trailed kisses down your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "Do you know why I summoned you here tonight? Or are you content to let me take what I want without a word of protest?"

His words sent a thrill of fear and excitement coursing through you, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to find your voice. But before you could respond, the Sheriff silenced you with a searing kiss, his lips hungry and demanding as he claimed you as his own.

As his hands roamed over your body with a possessive urgency, you surrendered yourself to him completely, your mind clouded with desire as you lost yourself in the heat of the moment. And as the Sheriff guided you towards the bed with a predatory gleam in his eyes, you knew that there was no turning back now.

He paused for a moment, his fingers caressing your thigh with a disturbing mix of possessiveness and curiosity, he posed a question that made your heart race with apprehension.

"Are you a virgin?" he asked, his voice laced with a cruel edge as he studied your reaction.

You swallowed hard, your mouth dry with fear as you stuttered out a nervous "no." The truth was that servants like you were rarely virgins, your station in life leaving you with very few options and even fewer expectations of finding a husband.

The Sheriff nodded, his fingers trailing under your servant's dress, which was little more than a rag draped over your body. "How many men have you been with, then?" he inquired, his tone mocking and derisive.

You lowered your gaze respectfully, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks as you admitted, "Only one, milord. A stable boy here at the castle."

The Sheriff's brow quirked in amusement, a sardonic smile playing on his lips as he considered your response. "Ah, a stable boy," he remarked dryly. "Is he your betrothed, then? Your one true love?"

You shook your head quickly, your voice barely above a whisper as you denied his assumption. "No, milord. We were... merely acquaintances."

The Sheriff chuckled darkly at your response, his fingers continuing to roam over your trembling form as he leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. "Well, my dear, it seems you and I have something in common," he murmured, his voice dripping with malice. "Neither of us is meant for love, only for pleasure."

You shuddered at his words, a chill of dread creeping down your spine as you realized the true nature of your predicament. With a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, you knew that there was no escape from the Sheriff's clutches—that you were nothing more than a pawn in his twisted game of power and desire.

And as he pressed his lips to yours once more, his touch hungry and possessive, you resigned yourself to your fate, knowing that there was no turning back now.

As the Sheriff of Nottingham stripped away your meager garment, revealing your naked form to him, a predatory grin spread across his lips, his brown eyes gleaming with a cruel hunger. His gaze lingered hungrily on your exposed body, savoring every curve and contour as if he were appraising a prized possession.

"You're beautiful, my dear," he remarked, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he traced a finger along the curve of your hip. "Almost too beautiful to be a mere servant."

You flinched at his touch, feeling a chill of dread wash over you as you realized the true extent of your vulnerability. But before you could protest or beg for mercy, the Sheriff's hands were already moving with purpose, stripping away your last shred of modesty with callous disregard.

As he tossed your underwear aside, leaving you completely exposed before him, you couldn't help but tremble with fear and shame, your heart pounding in your chest as you braced yourself for what was to come.

The Sheriff's smile widened at the sight of your nakedness, his eyes devouring you with an insatiable hunger that made your skin crawl. He wasted no time in making his intentions clear, his movements rough and commanding as he positioned himself between your legs, his erection throbbing with anticipation.

With one hand gripping your thigh possessively, the Sheriff used his other hand to guide his throbbing member towards your entrance, his touch sending shockwaves of pain and pleasure coursing through your body.

"No, please, wait," you pleaded, your voice trembling with desperation as you tried in vain to reason with him. But the Sheriff paid no heed to your protests, his lustful desires driving him forward with relentless determination.

Ignoring your cries, he thrust himself into you with brutal force, causing you to cry out in agony as he stretched you beyond your limits. You were not ready for him, not prepared for the searing pain that tore through your body with each merciless thrust.

But the Sheriff showed no mercy, his movements relentless as he claimed you as his own, his grunts of pleasure mingling with your cries of pain. He was rough and demanding, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force as he pounded into you with a primal intensity.

"Ah, you're so tight," he groaned, his voice thick with lust as he reveled in the sensation of your warmth enveloping him. "That stable boy clearly didn't know what he was doing if he left you like this."

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you struggled to endure the agonizing pleasure, your mind clouded with a dizzying mix of pain and arousal. The Sheriff's thrusts were relentless, each one driving you closer to the edge of oblivion as he claimed you as his own.

And as he pressed your hand against your lower stomach, forcing you to feel the full extent of his penetration with each thrust, you realized with a sickening sense of despair that there was no escape from his clutches—that you were nothing more than a pawn in his twisted game of power and desire.

As the Sheriff continued to thrust into you with a relentless determination, his words became more cutting, his voice dripping with sarcasm and disdain.

"You like this, don't you?" he taunted, his breath hot against your ear as he reveled in your helpless submission. "A filthy little servant like you, enjoying being used like a common whore."

You whimpered at his words, a mixture of shame and arousal coursing through your veins as you struggled to reconcile your conflicting emotions. You knew you shouldn't be enjoying this, shouldn't be responding to his cruel words with such eagerness, but you couldn't help yourself.

With each thrust, the Sheriff seemed to find new ways to demean and degrade you, his words like daggers piercing your already fragile sense of self-worth.

"You're nothing but a plaything to me," he sneered, his tone laced with contempt as he continued to pound into you with a punishing rhythm. "A worthless little whore, good for nothing but spreading your legs and taking whatever I give you."

But instead of recoiling from his words, you found yourself growing more aroused with each insult, your body responding eagerly to his dominating presence. With a newfound sense of confidence, you reached out and grabbed the Sheriff's back, pulling him closer to you as you urged him to intensify his thrusts.

The Sheriff's eyes widened in surprise at your boldness, a dark grin spreading across his lips as he realized the depth of your depravity. "Well, well, it seems our little servant has a bit of a backbone after all," he chuckled, his voice tinged with amusement. "I like that. Let's see how much you can take, shall we?"

With a renewed sense of purpose, you gripped the Sheriff's ass firmly, urging him to thrust into you harder and faster as you surrendered yourself to the pleasure of the moment. Despite the pain and humiliation, there was something undeniably exhilarating about being dominated by such a powerful and commanding man.

And as the Sheriff chuckled darkly at your eagerness, his hands roaming over your trembling form with a possessive urgency, you knew that there was no turning back now—that you were his to command, body and soul. And strangely, in that moment, you wouldn't have it any other way.

As the Sheriff took your hand off his ass and pinned it to the bed above your head, you felt a surge of excitement coursing through your veins. His touch was rough yet electrifying, sending shivers of anticipation racing down your spine as you surrendered yourself to the pleasure of the moment.

Leaning down, the Sheriff pressed his lips to your neck, his kisses leaving a trail of fire in their wake as he trailed down to your collarbone. With effortless strength, he took your other hand and pinned them together above your head, his large hand easily holding them in place against the mattress.

You moaned with pleasure, the sound music to the Sheriff's ears as he reveled in the intoxicating power he held over you. With each thrust, he drove you to new heights of ecstasy, his movements relentless and commanding as he claimed you as his own.

As he kissed down your collarbone, the Sheriff couldn't help but marvel at the scent of soap on your skin, a stark contrast to the other women he had been with. "You smell divine," he murmured, his voice filled with admiration as he praised you for your cleanliness.

But you were lost in pleasure, your eyes closed and face contorted in ecstasy as you surrendered yourself completely to the Sheriff's desires. With each thrust, your back arched and your body writhed beneath him, the sensations overwhelming your senses as you neared the brink of climax.

The Sheriff watched you with a hunger that bordered on obsession, his brown eyes dark with desire as he imagined what it would be like to see you cum on his dick. It was a thought that had never crossed his mind before, the idea of giving pleasure to a woman rather than just taking what he needed.

But as he gazed down at you, lost in pleasure and utterly vulnerable beneath him, the Sheriff felt a strange sense of longing stirring within him. He wanted to see your expression as you reached the peak of ecstasy, to witness the raw, unbridled passion on your face as you surrendered yourself completely to him.

With a newfound sense of determination, the Sheriff quickened his pace, driving you towards the edge of oblivion with each powerful thrust. And as you cried out in ecstasy, your body convulsing beneath him as waves of pleasure washed over you, he knew that he would stop at nothing to make you his own.

For in that moment, as you lay beneath him, utterly vulnerable and completely surrendered to his desires, the Sheriff realized that he would do whatever it took to keep you by his side—to possess you body and soul, now and forever.

[her-satanic-wiles]

October 29th

Breathplay, Swiss x Reader

Masterlist

Words: 4.2k.

Warnings: Breathplay; choking; Ghoul!Reader; public beginning; semi-public ending; public dry humping; dubcon; listen, I can’t help myself, okay?; they get real fucking awkward someone slap ‘em; finger sucking; fingering; squirting; positive degradation (took me 29 days but we got there in the end); possessive (if you squint); dacrophilia; unprotected sex; piv; vaginal sex; I went feral lmao; spit kink; cock warming;

Taglist: @sodoswitchimage @enchantedbunny @bitchywitchygardener @thew0man @sodomiser @the-did-i-ask @copias-sewer-rat @gehrmansbignaturals @deetz-ghuleh @onlyhereforghost @zombiesnips-blog @saturnhas82moons

Author's Note: Major thanks to @da-rulah for giving me this idea, like legit, this was all her idea. She’s the organ grinder, I’m just the monkey. Inspired by… recent events.

Recommended listening: Hypnosis by Sleep Token.

🔞 MDNI 🔞

It started with Dewdrop.

You danced on your podium stage, the roar of the crowd echoing in your ears as Watcher In The Sky droned on. The blinding spotlight followed your every move as you took your place behind the microphone, a sea of faces stretching out before you. The anticipation in the air was electric, and you could feel the bass thumping through the stage floor, matching the rhythm of your racing heart.

From the corner of your eye, underneath the mask, you saw him charging towards Dew at an alarming rate, his broad shoulders tense and fists clenched. It didn’t register fully until you got a good view of his body, and then you realised it was Swiss. Swiss was usually feral during this song - you’d seen clips of him online afterwards if you’d missed it during the concert. But usually he kept his insanity to his corner of the stage. Not tonight, though. Tonight he was gunning for the source of his anguish - tonight he was racing towards Dewdrop and his guitar that was loudly whining in everyone’s ears.

The first time it happened, it was just a scream. Well, a scream and a bite, but it wasn’t anything more than that. Harmless, really… even though it did set you on edge. There was something equally thrilling yet terrifying about seeing this big, burly man, who was usually the sweetest guy, angrily charge at someone so small in comparison; but also knowing that he had gained the confidence to wander around. You weren’t forbidden to leave your individual stages per se, but Papa did prefer it if you stayed in your place.

This was also amongst all the things he was doing with the other Ghouls - namely with Aurora. The way he got on his knees for her every time Cirice played, every time he pretended to pleasure her, sent shockwave after shockwave through your body. And the night they kissed? You felt the green-eyed-monster make an ugly appearance, and wished that was you.

The next time it happened, things got a little more… heated. His strong hands wrapped themselves around Dew, engulfing his entire hip and front. His large frame dwarfed the Ghoul in comparison and completely hid him from your view. You couldn’t see what Swiss was doing to him, but judging by the repetitive movements his arm and shoulder were doing you could easily come to a general conclusion.

The third night was worse… so. Much. Worse. You watched as Swiss wrapped his large hand around Dew’s neck, gently choking him while imitating jerking himself off. It definitely shouldn’t have done things to you. It definitely shouldn’t have made you think the things you did. It was just two guys playing around on stage… sure their game got a little sexual, but there was no harm done and the crowd certainly enjoyed it. That night though, as he was walking away, he made eye contact with you and caught your mouth agape. That night, he decided he was going to come and hang out with you for a few songs.

The next day, as you were putting your uniform on and painting your face the typical Ghoul style, a knock wrapped at your door. “Come in!” You shouted. Your body froze when Swiss walked through the door.

“Hey, loser.” He teased as he usually did, leaning up against the door frame. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing his gorgeous forearms that were crossed against the broad expanse of his chest - and you weren’t at all staring at the way that position pushed his breasts together to create a tempting amount of cleavage, visible only by the crease of his shirts. The leg he wasn’t resting on had also crossed over his body, and stabled him a little more by the toe of his boots.

You cleared your throat and looked back to the mirror, picking up your black paint box and scooping more up onto your finger. “Hey, loser. Did you not have anything better to do than watch me get ready?”

He tutted. “Now, can’t a guy come and visit his favourite Ghoul before a concert for a little conversation? What if I was Rain, hm?”

“Well, if you were Rain then I’d be much kinder. But you’re you. You want something. Spill.”

He sighed. “Fine,” he raised his hands in defeat, “you got me. How’s about we play a little game on stage tonight?” He walked over to you and stood behind your chair, looking at you in the mirror. His hands rested on your shoulders and gave you a little rub.

“What did you have in mind?”

“I’ll choke you instead of Dew.”

You tried not to react in any incriminating way - this was Swiss you were talking to. If he saw a flicker of anything besides absolute disdain or unbothered attutitudes, he’d rib you for the rest of time. You swallowed, and continued applying your paints. “Why me? The crowd loves that gay shit and what you do to Dew. Hell, they love what you do to Aurora, too.”

“Yes, but,” he leaned down so his mouth was level with your ear, his deep voice dropping low, “you love it, too, don’t you?” You froze. “I’ve caught your face. You’re not as sneaky as you think you are, you know?” He stood back upright. “Unless you actively stop me, I’m going to play with you tonight. Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Silence.

He tapped your shoulder and walked out of your dressing room. “See you tonight!”

You stepped onto the stage that night, the bright lights momentarily blinding you. The roar of the crowd echoed through the arena as the music began.Your thoughts kept drifting to Swiss—and whatever the hell it was that he had planned.

Swiss stood there, his presence commanding and his voice a captivating force. His every move seemed to draw you in, and you found it hard to concentrate on your own performance. The lyrics you were supposed to sing became a blur as you watched him, transfixed by his talent and charisma.

You tried to focus on your harmonies and choreography, but Swiss’s magnetic presence was an irresistible distraction. Every time your eyes met his, a spark of connection passed between you, intensifying the infatuation that had taken hold of your heart.

The familiar darkness of Cirice screamed through your in-ears, and you looked back over to Swiss’ podium but he was missing. Nowhere to be found. Given your conversation earlier, and his habit of going feral during Watcher in the Sky, you assumed he would do something then. It wasn’t until you felt his hands around your neck you realised he had other intentions. His fingers clasped your neck as the intro reached its pace change, the tips of each appendage falling onto your throat seductively, as though he were drumming on a desk and using his thumb as an anchor. You felt his helmet connect with yours and his body press up against your back. The longer he stayed there, hands attached to your throat, the tighter they held, squeezing the sides of your esophogus like an anaconda about to feed. Of course, he didn’t restrict your air flow. Of course, his hands tightened in all the correct places that made you feel lightheaded without damaging your body.

Of course he knew how to do that.

You couldn’t hear anything, or take in what else was going on. Your mind was consumed by his hand, and now something else pressing into your hip you didn’t expect to come out and play. The feeling of your pulse quicken sent shockwaves through Swiss’ body upon the realisation that you enjoyed this. You liked feeling his hand around your throat. You liked how hard he was squeezing. He placed his other hand on your hip and, clearly thinking only with his dick, rutted into you. The first time was an accident, he told himself. The second, third and even fourth time was because you felt so good against him, he couldn’t help himself. It wasn’t until he heard Papa singing the opening lyric, he remembered where he was, and that you both had to stop. So, he pulled away, and rushed back to his own stage.

After the adrenaline of the concert had faded, you found yourself back in your hotel room, still buzzing with the memory of Swiss’s hands haunting your mind, and you swore you could still feel his fingers ghosting your skin. As you tried to unwind, there was a sudden knock on your hotel room door.

Startled, you crossed the room and opened the door to find Swiss standing there, his expression a mix of nervousness and determination. He had sought you out, and it was clear he wanted to talk.

“Hey,” he began, his voice a little uncertain. “I couldn’t stop thinking about what happened tonight. I-”

“Come in.” You said, opening your door wider and allowing him to enter.

“Thank you. I just wanted to apologise for crossing a line tonight.” You closed the door behind him. “I don’t know what happened. I don’t have any excuses. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise, I-”

“I crossed boundaries, I really-”

“I liked it!” The words spilled out of your mouth, revealing a depth of feeling you hadn’t intended to share just yet. Swiss’s surprise was evident, but his expression softened with understanding, and a hint of a smile played at the corners of his lips.

He took a step closer, his eyes searching yours for sincerity. “I… I didn’t realize,” he began, his voice laced with a touch of vulnerability. “Where do we go from here, exactly?”

To hell with it, you thought. The damage had already been done, you might as well just rip off the bandaid and get it over with. “You could do it again.”

“N-now?”

“If you want…”

“No, I want… to.” He swallowed. The man in front of you was now so far from the Swiss you knew. His confidence was… somewhere in the room. But nowhere near him at the present. A tinge of excitement mixed with the nervousness in Swiss’s eyes as he contemplated the idea of doing it again. It was a leap into uncharted territory for both of you, a risky move that could either cement your connection or create an irreparable divide. Yet, the allure of it was too strong to resist. “Can I kiss you?”

Your voice came out breathier than usual - breathier than it ought to be. “Yes.”

Swiss finally closed the gap, his lips touching yours softly at first, not wanting to let loose too quickly and scare you away. He’d already crossed multiple boundaries today, he couldn’t bring himself to cross another. His hands came to your biceps, thumbs rubbing over the clothed skin in a comforting up and down motion. It wasn’t until you’d decided you were ready for something more that he finally let up.

Still in his uniform, you grasped onto his collar and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss and earning a little grunt in response from him. His left hand travelled upwards as your tongue gained access to his mouth, and eventually you felt his bare palm over your neck, thick fingers gently squeezing at the sides. You whimpered into his mouth, the sound so delicious on his tongue and reverberating in his ears, sending blood rushing south. That one sound did things to him he had never imagined. That one sound made him vow that you were going to cum around his cock tonight, with his hand wrapped around your throat.

He broke the kiss to torment you further, as if his actions on stage the last few days hadn’t been enough. As he spoke, his hand remained on your throat, and his voice was barely above a whisper. “You’re enjoying this aren’t you? I can feel your shakes of excitement. Those moans. The light in your eyes.”

“Please.” You said. As he squeezed at the sides, you could feel the restriction but not enough to cut of air supply entirely. Your head felt light and dreamy, eyes hooded with lust, hands grasping onto his forearms tightly to help you steady yourself. You begged, for what you couldn’t say. Maybe it was just force of habit; maybe it was your brain telling you to say it because he liked it; or maybe you wanted him to do unspeakable things to you while his fingers threatened to close your airways. A delirious smile painted on your face as though you were descending into madness the longer he touched you. His hand on your throat wasn’t enough for you. You imagined his other hand between your legs, dipped into your cunt. You wanted his fingers to violate you, roughly penetrate your walls and hit that spot hard over and over until you were screaming out for him.

Regardless, he approved, confirming this with a hum, voice so low it sounded like a tiger’s purr. “Please what? Use your words, tell me what you want.”

“Your hands.”

“My hands, hm? Doing what?”

“Touch me.”

He ghosted his lips over yours. “I am touching you.”

You took his free hand into yours and guided it to your waistband, dipping it below the fabric and hovering above your core, already wet and ready for him. “Here, too.”

“Greedy pup. No, baby. If I’m going to touch you, I’m going to do it properly.” He removed contact from you completely and took a step back. “Undress yourself.” You watched him remove the watch from his wrist, eyes fixated on his hands. “So desperate to have me touch you. Come on, baby. Don’t make me ask you again.”

You nodded dumbly, slowly removing items from your body until you stood bare in front of him. Swiss, in that time, had been removing his own clothes, except he was left only in his underwear. He placed one final kiss against your lips, feather-light and leaving you wanting, but still grateful for the attention. “On the bed, sweet baby. Spread your legs for me.” He instructed.

You followed his orders like a soldier to their commanding officer, eagerly hopping on the bed and exposing yourself to him. Where the confidence came from, you couldn’t say. In a normal situation, you’d be much more modest or tasteful with your movements, hesitant to expose yourself so readily. But there was something about Swiss’ commanding demeanor, his authoritative aura that had the hairs on your body stand on end, electrified in anticipation of what was to come. He had you wrapped around his little finger so quickly, it should have scared you. You weren’t one to easily submit. Yet you watched him climb over your body with hunger in your eyes, and mischief in his. You zealously sucked on his thick, middle fingers when he placed them in your mouth, and shivered when you felt them prod at your sopping entrance.

His digits met no resistance as they breached your walls, tapping the secret button inside that made your mouth fall open in complete pleasure. The squelch of your juices drowned out your little whimpers, and sped up as his tempo became more and more vigorous. Your body shook with the ferocity of his movements, and your fingers clutched onto the bedsheets to divert the energy from your mouth and cope with the overwhelming feeling boiling up inside you. You had to remind yourself of your location, that you were sharing a wall with a colleague and that you couldn’t be too loud; but Swiss simply tutted.

“Am I not making you feel good?”

You had to force air back into your lungs. “You are!”

“Then why can’t I hear you?”

“I-” You didn’t know what to say.

“Let me hear those slutty little moans, baby. Or I’ll stop.”

“No! Don’t stop, please don’t!”

“Then,” as he moved his fingers inside you, his other hand came to your throat, “be loud for me. And play with your clit.”

At the feeling of him restricting your esophagus again, combined with both of your hands working in tandem with each other, you had begun to reach heights you’d never been able to achieve with another person, even yourself. There were times when you were in the throes of touching yourself, when your own hand was desperately working yourself to orgasm, that you’d choke yourself in order to feel the ecstasy you were begging for. But it wasn’t quite the same - it never was. Yet now, your finger was frantically rubbing over yourself as your other hand moved from the bed sheets to clutch around his wrist as it gripped tightly to your neck, deliciously sending you back into that state of delirium.

Swiss knelt in between your legs, allowing your hips to buck wildly. His eyes were fixated on your face, cock hardening at the sight of you. Your eyes were rolling back into your skull, your mouth hanging open as if you were possessed. You were one tongue and a few tears away from a perfect ahegao, but there was still time. He’d make sure of it.

“Swiss!” You called out helplessly from below him, weak, vulnerable, half-crazy with the feelings he was making your body feel. He couldn’t deny just how delicious his name sounded coming from your swollen lips, oozing with need and desperation. Your mind was completely his; your body gifted to him willingly in your need to be choked and dominated. His name was the only thing you’d remember while he had you under his touch - under his fist. “G-gonna cum!”

“Yeah?” His voice was a little higher pitched, condescending. “Is my perfect girl gonna cum all over my fingers, hm?”

“Yes! Yes! Lucifer, yes!”

“No, no, no. Not on my watch, baby girl. Lucifer can’t make you feel this good. Who is?”

“You are!”

“Say my fucking name.”

“Swiss! Fuck! Cum-cumming!”

Vesuvius had nothing on your eruption. He paled in comparison to the earth-shattering explosion that set off inside you, and forced its way out without your knowledge. You poured yourself all over him, bathing him in your sacred water while your throat screamed bloody-murder beneath his hand. Fingernails dug into his skin as your body shook, cunt clenching tightly around him. Your vision, when you were able to think coherently again, was black in the corners from the intensity of your orgasm. As your orgasm subsided, Swiss’ hand pulled out of you and took over from yours, gently rubbing circles into your clit and making your body clench with little pockets of sensitive aftershocks. He wouldn’t stop until you told him to, and those words weren’t falling from your lips so he continued his ministrations, working you into over-sensitivity, gradually picking up the pace until his fingers were ferociously working you up towards a second orgasm; and you, the ever-willing recipient to his torture, accepted those gifts graciously, desperately calling his name as your mind went dumb from the pleasure.

Tears were falling from your eyes this time, and you clenched around nothing when you felt his broad tongue lick them from your face. All the while, his hand never left your throat.

His cock was girthy - average length but thick, and it met no resistance as it slid into you. His thigh hooked under your knee and lifted your leg further up the bed, allowing yourself to open up even more to him, and granting him the ability to bury himself all the way inside you, only stopping when there was nothing more to give. Every single one of your nerve-endings were standing on edge, holding matches to light the third fuse of the evening and preparing to hurt you in all the best ways. Swiss’ hand was on your throat, applying a similar amount of pressure as before while forcing your head in place to keep eye contact with him as he bottomed out. The drag of him against your walls, stretching you, filling you, was exquisite. His eyes, burning hotter than embers bore into your own, creating a depraved yet intimate moment as he geared up to fuck you into the mattress.

“Oh that’s fucking it, baby girl.” He moaned out in pleasure above you, savouring the tightness he’d buried himself inside. He removed the pressure from your neck to allow you some respite, but he kept it there to remind you of his intentions. “Fucking hell. If I’d known your cunt was this good I’d have taken you much sooner.” He began to thrust into you, resting most of his weight onto his other hand. His pubic mound rubbed against your clit, hairs tickling you and providing a small amount of stimulation. “This pussy was Hell-sent just for me, wasn’t it? Shit. So fucking perfect. You open up so well for me. So fucking wet for me, shit!”

He picked up speed. “Fucking ruining me. Why would I fuck another slut when I’ve got you, hm? So willing, and pliant,” he applied pressure again and watched your eyes light up, “and freaky. Oh shit!”

He was speechless for a while, focussing on the sound of your cunt swallowing him over and over again, squelching for him in appreciation of his hard work. He looked down to watch the cream of your pussy gathering around the base of his cock - well, all of it that wasn’t streaming down your folds and gathering on the sheets below you. So fucking tight and wet for him. He’d never been with anyone quite like you. The way your pussy opened up for him, the tears you were crying because of him, your screams of ecstasy. It was almost too much.

“Open up for me, baby girl.” He told you, and once you obliged, a string of his saliva dripped from his mouth into yours. He was laying claim to you wherever he could and groaned deeply when he felt you clench around him, becoming impossibly tighter. “Fucking hell - you loved that didn’t you? My beautiful, dirty whore. Touch yourself for me again.”

Your hand snaked down between your bodies to rub at your clit again, harshly and quickly stroking yourself in desperation of your third orgasm. You could tell that he wasn’t far off himself, erratic thrusts announcing how close he was. All the while, you were mewling beneath him - screaming for him. The drag of his cock against your walls, working alongside the tightness of his hand around your throat intermittently squeezing, was pulling you ever closer to the edge of euphoria. Just a little more and you’d fall - a little more and you’d be free.

“Swiss!” You shouted his name repeatedly, begging him over and over.

“I know, baby. I know. Keep going for me, that’s it. Fucking shit. I’m never gonna stop fucking this pussy. Where can I cum? Please tell me I can cum inside you.”

“Yes! I want it inside me. Give it to me, please!”

“Oh fuck! I couldn’t stop if you said no, baby. Can’t pull out. Too. Fucking. Good.” Each word was punctuated with a particularly hard thrust that sent your body up the bed a little. “You gonna cum, hm? Gonna cum on this goddamn dick?”

“Yes! Fuck, Swiss! You’re gonna make me cum!”

“Do it, baby. Cum for me.”

He tightened his grip one final time, keeping his pace while you kept yours. Your third orgasm was violent in all the best ways. Your vision was the first to go, eyes glazing over and rolling back as drool poured from your open mouth. Your hands cramped where they sat, digging your fingernails into his strong arm while rubbing your clit to completion with the other. Your back arched, your lungs refused to fill with air. Your voice was silent as your body convulsed in pure, unbridled pleasure while your mind swam with delirium from the subtle air restriction.

“There we go, baby girl. That’s it. Fuck - I’m g-gonna cum in this tight fucking cunt. Shit!”

Swiss came next, his seed pouring deep inside of you and painting your walls white. After your third orgasm, he selfishly chased his own, temporarily using you as a toy to tip himself over the edge and meet you in your euphoria.

Your hearts were racing from the adrenaline of the moment you’d just shared. Swiss could hear yours as he collapsed on your chest, his cock softening inside of you. You were both too tired to move, too sensitive to feel the cold. He wrapped your leg over his hip and rolled off you, hands and your leg pulling you with him. As soon as you both made eye contact again, his lips met yours in a desperate and needy kiss. This one, however, wasn’t intended to get you both riled up again ready for a second round, though, the longer your lips were attached and your hands roamed over his body, you could feel him chubbing up inside you. “You’re fucking incredible, you know that?” You whispered. “Thank you.”

Swiss chuckled. “I know, but it’s always nice to be reminded.” Another kiss, but this time your hand gripped onto his hair and pulled a little. “Don’t fucking do that or I’ll have to fuck you harder.”

You tugged again.

“___.” He warned.

You didn’t heed it and pulled one final time.

“Right,” he pulled out of you and flipped you on your stomach, “remember, you asked for this.”

Previous Day ⛧ Next Day

[mlpgen6]

Character Spotlight: Sweetie Belle

Here comes our first main character spotlight! I'm going to do all six main ponies eventually, as well as some villains, side characters, and others, but I'm going to gradually commission art for them and wait to make their posts until the art is done.

With that said, here's some art of G6 Sweetie Belle, commissioned from the awesome @hellspawnsparks!

Sweetie Belle may be the second youngest of the main six, but she's already living on her own; she supports herself by operating a tiny stall at the market, where she sells various sweets. She also works part-time at the Sweet Shoppe, and before the plot starts, she spends most of her spare time with her friend Starsong.

Sweetie Belle is a kind, hard-working unicorn who's always willing to lend an ear to a struggling friend. While she can be surprisingly cynical at times, she generally has an upbeat demeanor. She's great at baking and making various sweets, and she dreams of someday upgrading her stall to a full-blown patisserie. Making sweets has been her passion since she was a filly; a former neighbor of hers, Cinnamon Breeze, taught her everything he knew, and though she doesn't have very many fond memories of her hometown, Cinnamon Breeze's lessons were always the highlight of her day.

You see, Sweetie Belle's cheery, supportive disposition hides a dark secret: her parents are Sugar Sweet and Winter Snow, two power-hungry unicorns with a taste for dealing in forbidden magic. When the two were found out, they fled Unicornia and moved to the infamous city of Tambelon. Sweetie Belle was born and raised in Tambelon amidst villains and scoundrels, but she always felt like she didn't belong there, and when she was old enough, she moved to Ponyville and stopped speaking to her parents. She doesn't like to talk about her past, and she usually just dances around specific questions.

One thing she usually outright lies about is her cutie mark. While she says it grants her a talent for making sweets, her special power is actually mind control in the form of making ponies agree with whatever she says.  Her parents kept making her use this power for their benefit as a foal, but she always hated it. To this day, she refuses to use her power unless it is absolutely necessary, and even then, she'll try everything else she can think of before resorting to mind control. She is of the firm belief that a pony's decisions should be up to them and them alone.

Sweetie Belle is drawn into the plot when Silver Swirl botches the ceremony, which creates a shockwave that breaks the anti-dark magic barrier around her room. This allows a message from her father to get through, telling her that he's been imprisoned in Grogar's dungeon and begging her to save him. Though Sweetie Belle tries to ignore the message and carry on with her new life, she can't help but feel guilty about it. When Silver Swirl comes to Ponyville, Sweetie Belle quickly befriends her, and then the other four as well. The six ponies grow close, and perhaps they might be trustworthy enough to learn Sweetie Belle's secret...

[agent-cupcake]

Flashbang

Chapter 6 - Howl

Spotify Playlist / All Chapters / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 /Chapter 7/ Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 pt.1 / Chapter 9 pt.2 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12

Pairing: One Piece Live Action Buggy x f! Reader

Synopsis: A night of several firsts.

Warnings: Explicit smut, violence/death, dub/noncon, consensual drug use

Word Count: 13.5k

Notes: What do you get when you cross a mentally ill reader with a society that abandons her and treats her like trash? I'll tell ya what you get! You get whatcha fuckin deserve [weird culty clown porn]

“Now I wait as love and fate Echo from your lungs Do you, do you, do you want me, babe?”

xxx

A blood red sun set upon the sea, shining a single golden spotlight across the water as pirates rallied for the Final Call. Not even the wind could cut through the kinetic mist of untapped aggression. The pirate ship was a powder keg of violent energy and artistic ego, pressure building and building for this very moment. The crew was ready and the tides were right and the prey was chosen. All they needed was for the curtain to raise.

When the bell finally rang, it would be a lit match into an oil drum. 

Not that you stayed around to appreciate any of it. You were safely stowed below long before the first cannon was fired. Like everything else on the ship, the brig had once been a neat, utilitarian holding cell. Time had worn the wood and metal, lending it a creepy, haunted atmosphere, the cramped space a graveyard of abandoned props. The scent of rust and aging wood and thick salty stale rot was borderline suffocating, the air holding you in a shivering cold vice. 

All you could do was pull your jacket closer, trying to get as comfortable as possible on top of one of the many prop chests. It was claustrophobically slotted between a barrel filled with batons and a drum that had a violent gash through the top, but it was one of the only places in the room where you couldn’t see your distorted reflection in the cracked funhouse mirror. 

Even though everyone assured you it would be an easy victory, even though you had seen Captain Buggy’s Devil Fruit ability, and even though you had witnessed the chaos of the assault on Barley Village, you worried for the crew. You didn’t know how to pray, or even what higher power might protect pirates, but you closed your eyes and hoped very fervently that your new friends and your captain would be fine.

Anything else was unthinkable.

After that, there wasn’t anything to do other than hunker down and endure the night. You thought that since you had seen the violence in Barley Village, that you wouldn’t be as affected by it now, especially since you couldn’t see anything. You thought that you were ready for the shockwave impact of cannons. You thought that it would be okay because you were stronger now. 

Maybe, on some level, that was true, but when you heard and felt that first boom your body responded with the unrestrained panic of a wild animal. If you hadn’t peed before you hid away, you would have pissed yourself in pure terror. All at once, your breathing became fast and shallow, your heart pounding in your chest, a cold sweat coating your body. Then there was another boom. And another BOOM and muscles you weren’t aware of until that moment began to tense and quiver, your lungs seizing as if in the throes of hysterical weeping, dragging in air only to regurgitate with a spasming violence. 

It was fine. It was nothing like that day. It was fine. Why would you even think of it now? It was fine. It was entirely different. It was fine.

It was fine and yet your body curled up into a ball with your arms around your head and chin tucked against your knees, your eye wide yet dry, your mouth gaping, opening and closing in a desperate attempt to suck in some air. Your brain was on fire and the only thing you could think was that you were going to die. It was as if your body didn’t belong to you, like it had a will of its own, feelings of its own, because you couldn’t understand the reaction, it didn’t make sense. 

As the assault above worked its way down, your lantern frantically swung back and forth in a smear of flame. The metal creaked unhappily, the ship complaining all around you like an unhappy beast. Part of the strategy, you knew, was to limit cannon fire. They didn’t want to destroy the ship they hoped to commandeer. But even after it seemed like all shots had been fired, your body refused to relax. Down here, you had no idea what was happening above. No idea if Captain Buggy was okay, or Crina, or Cabaji, or Pippa, or Marty. You wouldn’t know for a while. Possibly hours. 

If it weren’t for your state of hyperarousal, you might not have noticed the sound from above. A noise, and a scuffling, and then something that might have been footsteps. Was that the hatch opening? 

You held very still, listening intently. Those were footsteps. You weren’t alone. Why? It wouldn’t make sense for anybody to come down here. Not unless something happened. There were plenty of worst case scenarios that could bring somebody down here. 

Covering your face with your arm to stem the ragged gasp of your body trying to get air, you checked to make sure you had the knife Marty had given to you safely in your pocket. You didn’t know what you would do with it, but having a weapon was better than nothing.  

A man jumped down from the steep ladder with a grunt, landing hard. He stood in the shadows, making it hard to parse details, but you had a feeling. A very bad feeling. 

Then, in a moment of true and genuine surrealism, he called your name. Your real name, the one you hadn’t heard since you boarded the ship. He picked his way over to the brig’s holding cell, but the door was too rusty to close, and the inside was filled with more props. You could see him in the funhouse mirror, his image distorted into a creepy facsimile of a human being, his face stretched out and limbs grotesquely skinny. 

You didn’t move, half hoping you would be obscured by the amount of clutter that surrounded you. 

He stepped back, looking around until his eyes met yours. And still, you didn’t move, you could hardly believe it was real.  

“Easy now, I don’t wanna hurt you,” he said, stepping into the light with his hands up. “I’m looking for a girl. A hostage. Real short, one eye.” 

You didn’t say anything, didn’t move, just looked up at him. Your mind screamed run, but your limbs locked up.

The man squinted, leaning forward to get a better look. “Holy shit, it’s you, isn’t it?” 

A little spasm made your body jerk awkwardly, a burst of energy from the part of your mind that wanted to escape.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, holding up his hands to show that they were empty. “I’m here to save you from these freaks.” Your silence made him frown, some of the warmth fading from his voice. “We have to move fast, while they’re all distracted.” He came even closer, reaching out to grab you. 

“No!” you cried, recoiling. “I’m not… I’m not going with you. I don’t need to be rescued.” 

His eyes narrowed, you could practically hear the gears turning in his head. “You’re not their hostage, are you.” 

“No,” you said, once again checking your pocket for the knife, squeezing it so tight that the metal indented your skin. “I won’t go.” 

“Look,” he said, his voice hardening. “Your dad’s offering a lot of money for your safe return, so you’re going to come with me. Is that going to be a problem?” 

“You can’t make me go with you, I won’t,” you said, shrinking back. You were essentially cornered, but you were also closer to the ladder than he was. If you could scramble up and close the hatch, you could find a place to hide. 

“I want you to know that if it were up to me, I’d let it be,” he told you. “But you’ll have to figure that out with your dad.” 

With a burst of energy you didn’t know you had, you sprung up and practically fell off of the chest, scrambling towards the ladder. 

He swore, grabbing you by the arm to jerk you backwards before striking your face. With your momentum broken and then flipped, you couldn’t adjust, going down hard and hitting the floor without feeling much of anything, just the mindless, deafening fire burning up your entire face. You were blind, your right eye streaming, seeing nothing except dark. The man hauled you off of the floor, grabbing your arms to painfully twist them. Your left shoulder socket screamed with red hot pain. That soundly snuffed out any will you had to fight. 

“I’m going to… To wrap you up. Try not to hyperventilate,” he advised, his words muffled beneath the sharp ringing in your ears. You realized that you weren’t blind, you had crashed into the light and shattered it when you fell. The man did as promised, covering you with a sheath of coarse fabric. It smelled dusty and a little rotten, it was probably one of the prop curtains. You didn’t have time to struggle before he threw you onto his shoulder, knocking the wind out of you all over again. 

Blood rushed down into your pounding head, mixing with the potent disorientation of being struck. It pulsed against the burning flesh of your cheek, you could practically feel the swelling. You knew you needed to escape, but if he dropped you while climbing to the upper deck, you could seriously injure yourself. And what good would it do? There was no way you could escape, you would only invite more pain. Maybe some people got used to it. They could take beatings and bear the pain with their teeth grit, but that wasn’t you. Already your head hurt so bad you worried you were going to vomit, your face burned, your left shoulder screamed, and your breathing was dangerously unsteady, muffled and hot in the cocoon of dusty fabric. The pain you felt now was nothing compared to what it could be, you knew that profoundly, and you couldn’t handle that.  

Think. 

You had to think. 

When you gingerly raised your right arm to check, you found that your knife had stayed in your pocket through the ordeal. You couldn’t be stupid about using it. The blade wasn’t long enough to do much damage, the most you could hope for was that it’d give you a chance. 

Even muffled by the curtain and pierced by the sharp ringing in your ears, the sound of the battle was deafening when he reached the upper deck. Your final night in Barley Village had given you a hint of violence’s atonal song, but when the man carried you out of the hatch, it hit with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Screaming, shouting, clanging, popping shots, howling like animals. 

Your kidnapper’s grip on you tightened, although you were less inclined than ever to struggle, your body seizing up in response to the cacophony, withering in fear. You wanted it to stop, you wanted to get out of the noise, to escape to where it was quiet. Not outside quiet, but the inside kind. You could feel it creeping up with its anesthetic-like haze, your mind’s best attempt to protect you from the fear and the pain and the horror. 

No, you couldn’t withdraw. You had to be brave. You would not let him take you back to your dad. You could not let him take you away from Captain Buggy. 

Figuring out where you were was too difficult when there was so much noise and activity. He would be taking you to the Jolly Boats, wouldn’t he? That was the only way to escape. You needed to act while you were around people, where you could escape into the chaos. Better to take your chances amidst a brawl than let him get you onto that boat.

Slowly, you reached into your pocket and found the knife. Moving as little as possible, you worked your arm back down to hang forward. Fumbling blindly, you felt for the notch to flip the blade out, nearly dropping the weapon in the process. But you got it, readjusting the handle to hold it in your fist. Wrapped up like you were, there wasn’t much space for you to get good leverage or hit especially hard, but it was all you had. Biting into the loose fabric of your jacket to keep yourself from vomiting, you slammed your fist into your kidnapper’s back blade first. You imagined Buggy behind you, pulling your hand out to thrust it back in, helping you just like he had on that day. Once, twice, three times and then the man practically threw you off of him with some expletive that you were pretty sure ended in bitch. 

For a second you were falling blindly, wrapped in a suffocating shroud. Then the deck caught the bend of your spine, your momentum rolling you away into a painful sprawl. You fought wildly to free yourself of the fabric, your panicked limbs thrashing desperately. 

“You fucking—you stabbed me?” The man shouted incredulously. You shucked off the dusty cocoon finally, sour bile dribbling out of your mouth as your body finally relented to the stress. You choked and coughed it out, unable to do anything else with the massive jolt of sensory overload. You thought the fighting was loud and frightening from within your curtain cocoon, but it was nothing compared to finding yourself on the deck in the midst of a true hostile takeover. 

The man was right above you when he stopped in his tracks, something emerging from his chest. He looked down at it in surprise, but the blade pulled out just as quickly. He pressed his hand against the stab wound as blood began to gush out, looking more like ink than anything else. 

Before he could do anything, he was stabbed again, the sword sticking through his chest and out the back of his hand. When it pulled up and out, his body followed it. He hit the deck with a heavy thump, his body spasming as it tried to expel the blood in his lungs. Behind him stood your vengeful guardian angel. Cabaji lowered his sword, his expression unchanged as he stalked past your would-be kidnapper.

“Are you alright?” he asked when he was close enough for you to hear him. You stared up at him blankly, unable to comprehend the question. 

The man on deck in front of you wasn’t dead. Even as he choked on his own blood, he went for his weapon. Scowling, Cabaji pushed him down with his foot and finished him off, carving a bright red smile across his neck. The man dropped, his eyes open and empty. 

Cabaji sheathed his sword and offered you a hand. You took it and stood weightlessly, your head as light as a balloon. The world spun, blinking out of reality before it slammed back into you all over again, you were made of lead. Were you crying? Or just sobbing? You realized right then that your hands were shaking violently. The entire world shook and trembled. 

“You can’t stay up here,” Cabaji told you.

You nodded, agreeing because you knew you should.

“Stay close to me,” Cabaji told you. You nodded again, clinging to his back. Cabaji didn’t stop you from holding onto his scarf, practically burying your face in it, ignoring everything else as he guided you across the deck. Every muscle in your body strained with tension, the scent of blood and smoke and gunpowder choking you, the howling of men and explosions and steel only barely piercing past the ringing in your ears.

From what it looked like when you dared to look, the fight was very one-sided. The Buggy Pirates had overwhelmed the other ship with their noise and number. You passed beneath a screaming, thrashing woman who hung from the rigging, it looked like she had climbed up in an attempt to escape and gotten tangled up. Somebody had thrown one of the powder bombs at her, painting her in red. Richie the lion had joined the fray, looking every bit the beast you feared. Bodies littered the deck, their inky blood reflecting the colors flashing in the sky. And the pirates, people you knew, rejoiced in it, cackling and dancing and killing with a reckless joyousness you couldn’t fathom.

A surprise party. As in, the other ship must have been surprised by the vicious crowd of circus performers throwing a party on their ship. 

It was grotesque. Unnatural. You didn’t belong here, it didn’t make any sense that you were. It didn’t make sense. 

When Cabaji stopped at the quarterdeck hatch leading down the officer’s quarters, you nearly fell against him. He opened it up, stepping aside to usher you through. It was on unsteady feet that you stepped down onto the ladder, and with clumsier hands that fumbled. You hit the floor hard on your tailbone. There was no pain. Cabaji jumped down next to you, once again holding out a hand to hoist you back onto your feet. 

“Go into the captain’s cabin and lock the door.”

With the battle muffled, your deafening heartbeat took its place. You nodded, swallowing hard to pop your ears. “Yes,” you said. “Yes, sir.” 

Before he could ascend the ladder again, you grabbed his hand, looking him in the eye with a sudden, vivid flash of hyper reality, every detail of the ship and the man in front of you viscerally present.

“Thank you, Cabaji.”

Although his severe expression remained, you thought you felt him squeeze your hand in passing reassurance before swinging around to rejoin the chaos above. 

The trip back to the captain’s cabin was just that—a trip. After locking the door, you stumbled your way past the antechamber where you would normally wait and into Captain Buggy’s bedroom. For a long moment, you stood there looking at Buggy’s bed which you had neatly made earlier that day. His desk, littered with a familiar mess. 

This was real. All of it. 

Doubling over with a hard punch of nausea, you rushed to the bathroom, barely getting the lid up before you threw up everything in your stomach. Supper had been a while ago, there wasn’t much to expel other than acid, but your body violently convulsed in rounds as if to get rid of something more, something worse. Trying to rid itself of the sickness that nestled right into your bloody, corrupted insides, desperate to cleanse itself of the sticky rot that thickened your blood and made your head ache. 

But that relief never came. 

When you were so emptied out inside that your body couldn’t justify even dry heaving, you stood up and flushed the toilet. Moving slowly, lethargically, you grabbed the nearest liquid—a bottle of disinfecting alcohol Buggy used to wash his pierced ear—to rinse your mouth. It tasted foul and felt worse, but it removed the taste of vomit from your tongue. 

With slow, stumbling steps, you went into the bedroom and poured yourself a cup of water, drinking until you couldn’t take any more and then-

And then what? 

You stared at the worn down edge of his desk and even though you weren’t moving, couldn’t even feel yourself shaking anymore, the world was collapsing around you. It felt like that one time you fell out of one of the buildings northside, that hook like drag from behind your bellybutton as gravity got a hold of you, the terror that came moments before the agony of crashing onto the ground. 

Not knowing what else to do, you huddled in the corner. Not on the bed, but behind it. Hiding. 

You wanted to shut it all off, to retreat into the inside quiet like usual, to go where the world couldn’t touch you. There was too much pain and horror. Too many thoughts you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking. You did not belong here. You wanted to go home. 

That pathetic thought broke through the fragile composure you’d maintained and you curled up into yourself, crying openly. You didn’t want to be here anymore, it was scary and violent and loud. You wanted to go home.

Pressing a clammy, trembling hand to your cheek, you could almost feel your dad’s touch imprinted on the skin, burned there as surely as a brand. 

You closed your eye and it was as if you were in the familiar old sitting room with the overstuffed upholstery and fire that burned so brightly yet never seemed to put off any heat. That night, the last night before he left, dad called you to sit at his feet, appraising you with tired, bleary eyes. At the height of his fury, he looked more vicious god than man, towering above you with lightless pupils and a blank expression. Now he looked old and worn out. His days at sea had carved a million little creases into his face, the leathery flesh sagging off the bone from one too many emptied liquor bottles. 

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said as he stroked your cheek. “I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

“I know, daddy.”  

“My sweet little girl.” His words slurred together like they always did when he was in an affectionate mood. “You are, aren’t you?” 

“Yes, daddy.” 

“You’ll be good now, won’t you? You won’t misbehave while I’m gone?” 

What you wanted to remember was agreement. A bland ‘yes’ that you didn’t mean because of course you were going to run away. But that’s not what happened. That’s not what you said that night.

“Please don’t go,” you begged. That part of the memory was the most important because you understood it now. If he had stayed, you wouldn’t have left. You would have died in that house if he was there to keep you with him. Because you didn’t want to leave, not really. But you knew you couldn’t stay, either. You had to at least try to get out. But dad stroked your cheek and told you he would be back in a blink, that you wouldn’t have time to miss him. 

You saw him off the next morning, your shoulders heavy with the knowledge of what you were about to do. What you had to do. 

Destiny, fate, a bad joke—you didn’t know what to call it. Inevitability, maybe. Now you were here.

Your own hand dropped from your cheek, falling limp to the floor beside you as that memory fell away, replaced with another. 

“If he doesn’t kill you, your dad will. Do you really think you’ll ever be able to hide from him?” Randall said that right before you cut him—cut him a huge red smile—and he was right. That’s what this was. 

What happened tonight had been a deliberate attempt to kidnap you, to get away while everybody was distracted by the raid. Maybe your dad would be able to guess which merchant ships the Buggy Pirates would raid based on the stolen maps. Maybe he sent messages out to a few mercenary types, people who would be on board to protect the goods anyway, people who wouldn’t mind abandoning their crew for a bigger payout. Maybe this was just the most rotten confluence of bad luck and coincidence. 

The execution was overshadowed by the far more intimidating message of it all. He would never let you go, not you, not his sweet little girl. 

There was no quiet, not inside or out. The thrashing, raving thing within you screamed, and you did too. A ragged and terrible scream that ripped up the inside of your throat. It was pathetic and ugly. More than anything, it hurt.

Even if you went back to him, he would know what you had done. He would know that you weren’t his little girl anymore, that you were tarnished. One life burned for another you could never have. No matter what you thought or told yourself, you weren’t a pirate. You were a fake. A coward.

And there was nothing you could do. Not now, not anymore. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. 

For the first time since boarding the ship, you thought about what led you to this point. Really thought about it. The sneaking, the hiding, being strung up and threatened, the cage. Standing behind Randall with a stranger at your back, a knife in your hand, a blade to the neck of a man you had loved nearly all of your life, a man who never loved you. Screaming. Blood dripping down your wrist.

Murderer.

There were moments in your life that you thought were too much. You stopped crying, stopped shaking, stopped breathing, and knew, knew with absolute certainty, that you could not handle any more. Then time continued to march on, pulling you right along with it, and there was nothing other than your suffering, it was without end, and you wanted to die—more, you wanted to never have existed in the first place.

Those moments didn’t come when dad beat you, or when he screamed at you, or after losing mom, or because of what happened to your eye, or seeing Randall marry another girl. Pain and fear and sadness were immediate. Pain and fear and sadness, no matter how intolerable, made sense. At least you weren’t alone, at least you had a tether—even one that was barbed and electrified. 

True misery, the kind that made you want to claw your way out of your skin and rip out your still-beating heart, was a solitary experience. It came when the cellar door closed and you heard the lock turn. When your desperate pleas and apologies and cries were met with silence because nobody was close enough to hear them. Those dark hours you spent curled up on the stone floor shivering, listening to your wheezing breath shudder in and out of your lungs. When the quiet didn’t come and you realized the enormity of imprisonment. It wasn’t that you were trapped in the dark, dank cellar with rats, or in a house with your angry dad, or in a town where everybody thought you were a freak. Hell was realizing that you were trapped within yourself, with the monstrous creature who lived in your head, the one that hated you so bitterly. Was that you? You without any mask at all, exposed and plain and wretched and a murderer.  

It was too much. You could not handle it.

But there was nothing else. No one else. And you only had yourself to blame. 

There was something Randall used to tell you. He’d laugh good-naturedly and say you’ve really stepped in it now. You could hear him now, as clearly as if he were right next to you. 

You’ve really stepped in it now.

You heard the door unlock and open from the other room. The sound jolted you stiff, a gasp leaving your sore throat. 

“Honey, I’m hoooome,” Buggy called, shutting the door. Hearing that it was him made your shoulders relax a little. Did that mean the fighting was over? “Babydoll, are you here? Cabaji told me you were naughty and he had to put you in time out.”

“I’m back here,” you called on autopilot, your voice cracking.

You had no idea what happened now, or what you were meant to do. There was nothing you could do to hide the fact that you had been crying, no matter how much you wiped your face. Bracing yourself for anything, you got to your feet. Standing up so fast made you dizzy, and suddenly you felt quite aware of how ridiculous it all was. Pathetic. A pirate wouldn’t cower in the corner of a room crying like a child. A grown woman wouldn’t do that. 

You reached up to pull down your bandana, only to poke your left eye. It must have come undone sometime during the attempted kidnapping. You lost your knife too. That hurt worse than losing your bandana, nearly prompting you to start crying all over again. 

“Where oh where has my baby gone,” Buggy began to sing as he walked through the other room. “Oh, where, oh, where can she be? She whines so sweet, like a bitch in heat—” He reached the open doorway, smiling as soon as he saw you. “Oh, there you are. I didn’t wake you up, did I?” 

“No, sir,” you said, your head bowed to hide your splotchy red face.

“What were you doing?” 

You sniffled. “Nothing, sir.” 

“Aw, did the big scawy fight make you cwy?” Buggy asked. You shook your head fast, unwilling to trust that your voice wouldn’t break if you spoke. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s okay to be scared your first time. Even I was a little freaked out during my first big raid.” 

You dared to look up, your eyebrows furrowed. “Really?” 

“No,” he said, laughing as if the thought itself were too ridiculous to entertain. “Can you imagine me being scared?” 

He took his gloves off, tossing them aside. Buggy had lost his hat and coat and his clothes were splattered with blood and colorful powder and who knows what else, but he wasn’t wounded. He was fine, and he was in good spirits. That was good. 

“You know,” Buggy finally said to break the silence, “if you want me to keep you around, you’re gonna have to suck it up and put on your big girl pants. Nobody likes a crybaby.” 

“I know,” you said softly, self loathing making your chest swell, sitting heavily on your heart and lungs like a tumor. “I’m sorry, sir.”  

“God, you’re so… so pitiful,” Buggy said. “Yeah, no. That’s not gonna do it for me tonight. We’re drinking.”

You side-eyed his collection of bottles. The sweet liquor he had shared that first night was an outlier, most of what Buggy drank was much harder and more abrasive. Even the smell made your stomach turn, you had no idea how he could handle it. “I’m okay,” you said, wiping your eye again. 

“Oh, right. Poor little baby can’t handle her liquor. Don’t worry, Captain Buggy has just what you need. I scored this a month ago at a club owned by this Saydon guy.” He walked over to the armoire, shuffling around the clutter before finding a bottle. “He’s a thieving sack of shit without an original bone in his body, but I had a good time fleecing his stupid customers. This,” he held up the bottle as he turned and approached you, “is the good shit, straight from some rich guy’s personal stash. I was going to sell it, but I’m willing to sacrifice a few berry to cheer up my pathetic little charity case.”

You swallowed hard at the offer, looking from his smile to the bottle. Thick red glass and a real paper label, although the text was illegible. 

“Let me pour you some so we can skip to the part where you’re not making me miserable and we can celebrate my brave and triumphant victory.”

“Okay,” you said. It was fine, probably some type of opiate. Your dad had given you that sort of thing to help you stave off the hysteria before. It would be nicer than feeling like this, wrung out and hiccupping in the pitiful clutches of despair. 

“Gotta be careful not to overdo it. Hey, you wanna eyeball this for me?” Buggy asked, laughing as he measured out the tincture and added some water. Seeing your lack of smile as he handed you the cup, he sighed dramatically and grabbed one of the bottles from his desk. “A toast to the flawless victory won tonight by the most fearsome captain in all of the East Blue.”

“To Captain Buggy,” you said. Buggy drew back the bottle, giving you a sharp look. Sluggish as your brain was, it took an excruciatingly long few seconds to realize what he wanted. “To Captain Buggy, the future King of the Pirates... and-and the best man I’ve ever known,” you tried again.

“Eh… I’ll take it,” he allowed with a shrug, tapping his bottle to your cup.

The drink was as terrible as you expected, but the taste of bitter medicine was still better than hard liquor. Buggy clearly didn’t feel the same, downing a mouthful without even wincing before unceremoniously collapsing onto the end of his bed. You ran a hand over your face. Red, hot, and a little swollen. You knew you looked rough, probably about as bad as you felt. 

“You weren’t this weepy last time,” Buggy said. “You weren’t worried about me, were you?” 

“Of course I was,” you said, frowning. “I was worried about all of you. I… I don’t know what I would do without you, Captain Buggy. I’m sorry, I’m…” You shook your head, trying to clear it somewhat. “It’s silly.” 

“Yeah it is. Those idiots wouldn’t be able to hurt me even if I was doused in seawater and blindfolded,” Buggy said, rolling his eyes and leaning back on his elbows. “It was so easy, barely even worth bragging about. After I killed like ten of his men, the captain came out with this huge sword—clearly compensating for something. I let him get a good swing in right through the middle, and you should have seen his eyes when I put myself back together. His reaction was even better than yours. I’m pretty sure he shit himself.”

“And everyone else?” you asked.

“Yeah, they did fine too,” he said flippantly. “Frankly, it was boring. For me, at least. I could probably have taken them down all by myself.” He sighed dramatically. “But, hey, it was a good learning experience for my freaks.” 

You nodded, dropping down to your knees to take his boots like always.

Buggy capped the bottle and buried it in the sheets, pulling something out of his pants pocket. You glanced up to see him messing with something wrapped in thin foil wrapping before forcing yourself to focus on the nightly ritual of wrestling his boots off. They were splattered in blood, a fact you only realized when some of it smeared onto your hands.

“I found these in his office,” Buggy said after you got the first boot off. “Salted caramels. They’re a bitch to get out of your teeth, but-” Buggy popped one in his mouth, moaning loudly at the taste, “sooo good. Want one?” 

You were more concerned with the unabashedly vulgar moan than you were with the candy, it took you a second to remember the question. 

“Oh, um. Yes,” you finally said. “Yes, please.” 

“Okay, but don’t tell anyone that I’m playing favorites,” Buggy said as he unwrapped another, sitting up to hold it out. When you tried to take it, he pulled away. “Ah, ah, ah. Open wide, babydoll.” 

You frowned, realizing that he meant to feed it to you. “Why?” 

“Look at your hands! Have you got any idea how nasty blood is? Come on, say ahhh.” 

You sat up to take it with your mouth, he pulled it back at the last second, your lips closing around empty air. 

“Oh, you almost got it,” Buggy teased. “Try again.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Captain Buggy, why…?”  

“I’m teaching you a valuable lesson. If you really want something, you have to work for it.” He held the chunk of caramel up again, within reach. Once again, you tried to eat it, but he pulled it away again. “So close,” he taunted. Every time you leaned closer, Buggy pulled it away, scooting further up the bed to keep it just out of reach, laughing the whole time. It forced you to crawl up, bracing yourself on the edge of the bed to chase the prize. Once you thought you really had it, uncomfortably hovering above him, he looked you in the eye and popped the candy into his mouth. “Guess you didn’t want it that bad,” Buggy said with a big grin, the words gummed up as he chewed. 

Flushing with embarrassment, you sat back onto your knees. 

“You know,” Buggy said, sitting up. “I had a dog once that did the exact same trick. It wasn’t as good as when you do it, although he was a lot better at actually getting the treat.” Foil crinkled and, this time, he pressed the caramel directly against your lips, pushing until you accepted it. You were too caught off guard by the way he’d put it into your mouth to do anything other than automatically chew and swallow, barely tasting anything. “See?” he asked. “Delicious, right?” 

“Yeah,” you belatedly agreed, the word coming out on autopilot.

“I can’t stand having sticky fingers,” Buggy said, tapping his tacky fingertips together with a frown. “Be a good little puppy and lick them clean for me.” 

You blinked, laughing dizzily in disbelief before you fully comprehended what he said. “What?”

“It’s what dogs do, isn’t it?” Buggy asked, wagging his fingers in front of your face. 

“You mean it?” you asked, hoping that he was just playing with you. 

“Yes, I do,” he said slowly, condescendingly. “It can’t be that much more embarrassing than doing tricks, right?” 

 So it was just another game. An embarrassing one. It felt dirty, like something you shouldn’t have been doing. But maybe that was in your head. Maybe Buggy didn’t see it that way. It was fine. Avoiding looking up, you opened your mouth for him. He said to lick them clean, but it was more practical to close your lips and suck until there were no more traces of caramel stickiness on his skin. 

“And Cabaji says you’re dead weight,” Buggy said, satisfied. Pulling his fingers out of your mouth with a slick pop, he leaned back again, grabbing the bottle from the sheets to take another drink. 

“Cabaji says that?” you asked, confused. You and Cabaji were, well, not friends. But he saved you. When you thanked him, he squeezed your hand. Hadn’t he? When you tried to think of it, the whole night floated somewhere distant, far beyond the warm bubble of this room, there was a chance you made that part up. 

“Are you ever gonna finish up down there?” Buggy asked as if he hadn’t heard you, raising his remaining boot. Somehow, you’d forgotten that removing his boots was the reason you were on the floor to begin with. Trying to shake your head clear, you braced yourself to get his boot off. It took more effort than it probably should have. Your limbs had loosened, your head light like a balloon. When it came free, you tipped backwards, thumping down on the floor. There was no pain. 

Buggy laughed. Surprised at first, then louder, a big belly laugh.  

You sat up, dazed and frowning. Your expression only made him laugh harder. When his amusement settled somewhat, he managed to speak. “You okay?”

“It’s not that funny,” you said.

“You know when you see a kid trying their little heart out to do something, but they keep failing because they’re so small and stupid? It’s like that,” Buggy said. “Watching you struggle with everything you try to do is half the reason I keep you around.”

Frowning with all of the indignant strength you could muster, you got your legs beneath yourself, using the edge of his desk to stand. Although it had probably been more of a gradual process you were simply unaware of—that would explain your lack of concern with his antics—it was only when you were upright that you fully realized the impact of the medicine. 

Woah. 

Breathing deeply, you followed the motions of getting a rag to clean up your hands, surprised at how lethargically you moved, how warm your skin felt. Annoyed, you pushed off your jacket, relaxing when its weight was gone from your shoulders. 

You mumbled an apology, something about the room being too warm, turning to look at Buggy. The air felt so nice brushing against your bare skin, like warm little whispers all over your arms and legs.

“Hey, kiddo, you’re lookin’ kinda flushed,” Buggy said. “I didn’t give you too much, did I?”

You blinked slowly, caught off guard by the way his pale skin glowed in the warm lamplight, the way it highlighted the shadows beneath his cheekbones. “What?”

“Come here,” he said, holding his hand out to you. 

It wasn’t a long distance, a few feet at most, but your legs weren’t steady at all. You let go of the desk and almost immediately tipped forward. 

“Sheesh,” Buggy said with a laugh, catching you before you fell. “I didn’t expect you to throw yourself at me.”

“Sorry,” you said distantly, trying to get your bearings. The melty lightheaded feeling had your head spinning, reality shifting on its axis before snapping back into place. 

“It’s not like it's the first time,” Buggy joked, grinning. Standing like this, your hands on his shoulders, you were so close. His breath smelled like whiskey and caramel and his makeup had faded and smeared after the fight. You wanted to be closer, to feel his bare skin against yours. That would be so nice, wouldn’t it? He was warm and solid and-

You looked around, overcome with the absurdity of the situation. How long had you been in here? The air was warm and too close, and your bandana was gone when you nervously tried to pull it down. 

“Sorry, um… What?” you asked with a confused smile, trying to focus your thoughts. “I… can’t think…” 

“It’s not like I keep you around for your brains,” Buggy told you. He sounded a little drunk, smiling that boyish grin you usually only saw in the morning. “Why don’t you sit down? We’re still celebrating.” 

“What about your… your makeup?” you asked, trying to find a familiar point to tether yourself with. 

“What about yours?” Buggy asked, running his thumb over your cheek. “It’s smeared all over your face. You look like a one-eyed racoon.” 

“Oh, I… I forgot,” you said, running a finger under your eye. It came away smeared with black makeup. “I’m sorry.” 

“I don’t mind it,” Buggy said, “Actually, you look kinda cute like this—all cried out and red and pathetic. I don’t know why, but there’s something about that sad look you get that really turns me on. Is that weird?”

A beat too late, your eye widened in surprise, your shoulders raising defensively. “You can’t say that.” 

“Why not?”  

“Because…” You floundered, searching for the right words. The other night when you were drunk, the alcohol made your thoughts scatter, difficult to interpret. This drug was different, it eased away the edges. Too many words and a very soft world in which to speak them. That was confusing, just for a different reason. “Because it’s not true,” you finally said, almost proud to have remembered what you meant to say. “You’re just trying to embarrass me.” 

Buggy laughed. “I don’t have to make shit up to embarrass you. Half the time you spare me the trouble and do it yourself.” 

You frowned, your eyebrows furrowing. 

“Don’t worry,” he said soothingly, “I’m into it.”

You looked at him for a second before laughing nervously, a little tremor working down your spine. “Captain Buggy, I, um…” 

“Don’t you trust me?” he cooed in an overly saccharine tone. 

“Yes, I do.” 

“You’re not afraid I’m trying to pressure you into something, are you? It’s not like there’s anything wrong with sitting together. I bet you sat on your dad’s lap all the time,” Buggy said as he pulled you towards him, scooting back to make more room for you to sit. 

“Not… like this,” you said, your nervous smile straining as you tried to twist sideways to sit with your legs across his lap because that was the normal, safe way. Sitting with your legs straddling his hips was entirely different and wrong. “Isn’t this… awkward for you?” 

“Not at all. Make yourself comfortable.” You tried to hold your weight off of him, one foot on the floor, but he reached around to hook a hand around your thigh, forcing you fully onto the bed and onto his lap. “Yeah, just like-” Buggy’s words cut off with a groan when you tilted forward, a sound that made you tense up, very, very aware of his hips between your thighs. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, trying to squirm away. “Did I hurt you? I can… move…”

“No, don’t,” Buggy said, his hold on your hips tightening. “It’s, uh…” He exhaled harshly. “Fuck. I swear I never even thought this sorta thing was hot before now… Like, sure, I guess it’s a little charming when girls get coy and act like they’re innocent, but, I don’t know, it’s so played out. But then the real deal comes around and suddenly I get the appeal. I really get it.” 

You giggled at that. It wasn’t funny, you weren’t sure why you would find it amusing. “Shhh,” you said as seriously as you could. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true, isn’t it?” Buggy asked, raising his eyebrows. “Have you ever even kissed anybody?” 

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Yes, I have.”

“Riiiight, that shithead from the other day. But he abandoned you, didn’t he? Broke your poor little heart all because he couldn’t imagine looking at your busted eye while fucking you.” Buggy’s hand raised to cradle your head, his thumb tracing the scar beneath your left eye. “Well, personally, I think it’s hot that you’re just as damaged on the outside as you are on the inside.”

“No,” you told him, shaking your head with more vigor than was warranted when you weren’t sure what, exactly, you were protesting. 

“Between you and me,” Buggy continued, leaning even closer to speak in a conspiratorial tone, “last time I was jacking off, all I could think about was how adorable it is. Your eyes just scream ‘rape me’ which is weird because only one of them works, and believe me, it makes it pretty damn difficult when you spend so much time on your knees. God, would you even know what was going on if I popped a boner while you were down there? I’m chubbed up half the time and you don’t seem to get it.”

That crossed a line you hadn’t been aware of, and he said it so easily. So casually. The words dripped hot poison into your core, pulling a dark shiver down your spine and an unexpected sound from your mouth. You didn’t mean it, you never really did, but your mind was drifting above the clouds, leaving your body to try and sort out the feelings he so effortlessly dragged out of you. As soon as your reaction registered, you clasped both hands over your mouth with enough force to almost send you tumbling backwards, but Buggy pulled you back, laughing.  

“What was that?” 

“I… didn’t mean to,” you said, but he probably couldn’t hear through your hands.

“No, seriously. Do you practice these sounds ahead of time, or do they just happen?”

“I’m sorry,” you said, releasing your mouth. “I…” When you squirmed in discomfort, his hips rolled to meet it, grinding directly between your legs. You squeezed your eye shut, just trying to breathe. The drug made your body relax, but it relaxed too much, dragging you down with the heaviness of your flesh. A bubble of sound left you, something like a sob or a laugh or a hiccup. “Why are you doing this?” 

“Because it’s fun and, more importantly, because I want to,” Buggy said in a matter-of-fact way. “Do you want me to stop?”

You shook your head again, refusing to look at him as if that would buy you some time so you could find an answer. 

“Hey, your captain asked you a question.” 

“I… don’t know…” you told him, fleetingly meeting his eye in an attempt to convey your inner conflict, to make him understand what you felt.

Buggy made a harsh sound of frustration, his eyes rolling up to stare at the ceiling. “Yeah, that’s not really an answer. The last thing I need right now is you waking up tomorrow and crying molestation or some bullshit.”

“I wouldn’t,” you told him. “I don’t want you to-to stop, but… I-I don’t know what… or-or how, I…”

“Ah, I’m doing this all wrong, aren’t I?” he said in a softer tone, looking back down to meet your eye, smiling and petting your hair. “I mean what is the first rule of storytelling?” 

You frowned, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion. 

“Show,” Buggy answered for you, his hand sneaking around to hold the back of your head, “don’t tell.” 

It wasn’t a kiss, not at first. At first it was just hot and wet because you didn’t understand what was going on. You knew you were supposed to open your mouth, so you did, but you couldn’t comprehend anything other than the vulgar assault of tongue and teeth. He tasted like salt and caramel and liquor and greasepaint. It was strange to feel his nose pressing against your cheek and the drag of his stubble against your skin.

Then something clicked, your body taking over while your mind faltered behind. With the drug swimming in your system, everything felt at least a little good. The heaviness inside of you was also raw, stimulating warmth, a sort of buzzing wherever the two of you touched. Kissing Buggy felt even better. Being kissed, letting him guide you. It was filthy and messy and a little gross to feel his tongue in your mouth, but it was animalistically hot. 

When his hand pushed under your shirt, it tickled enough to make you laugh, squirming in his lap. He groaned hungrily right into your mouth, his hips grinding up against you. With one arm wrapped around you to keep your head in place, the other pushed your undershirt up and out of the way to palm your breasts. The limited exploration you had done with your body had given you the impression that you were indifferent to feeling anything other than disgust and shame, but the sensation of him rolling your nipple between two rough fingers zipped down your spine like electricity. 

Even muffled by his mouth, you couldn’t stop yourself from moaning and whimpering, from helplessly pressing yourself against him for more. He said you hadn’t noticed when he was hard before, but you were pretty sure that’s what you were feeling right then, that it was his erection hot and hard between your legs. 

Leaving both nipples hard and painfully sensitive, his hand slipped down to wiggle under the waistband of your shorts. Bad. Bad. Wrong. Very wrong. You pulled away with a harsh gasp, trying to squirm away from that hand. 

“Hey, no, it’s okay. I’m just gonna check real quick to see if you’re wet,” Buggy said to console you. His makeup was smeared from the kiss, and his eyes were round and excited. “It’s not weird, I’m just trying to figure out where we’re at with the whole consent thing, okay?” 

“Okay,” you mumbled, even if you had no idea what one had to do with the other. The angle was awkward, especially when he had to navigate beneath the confines of your shorts, but his searching fingers found your clothed pussy pretty quickly. His touch shocked you as physically as a jolt of electricity. Even through your panties, there was a foreign intensity to the pressure. More intense, maybe, was the look in his eyes. You expected amusement, but there was none. Stripped of the jokes and the teasing and the smile and the crass comments, he was somebody who wanted. Wanted you.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Buggy said, his fingers curling, pushing the fabric of your panties between your folds, and you choked back an embarrassing whimper, your hips unintentionally bucking forward.

“I don’t think this is… I’m really, really sorry, I…” you stammered out, stumbling over your excuses and apologies and anything at all that would get you out of this. “I mean, we shouldn’t, it’s probably not-”

“Shut up,” Buggy told you sharply. “Here I thought I should take things slow so you didn’t feel too bad about it afterwards, but you’re fuckin’ soaked.”

“No, it… ‘s not-”

“No?” he cut in, easily shutting you up with another curl of his fingers. “So what am I feeling right now. Did’ya piss yourself or something?” 

“I didn’t! It’s just…” Hard to think. Hard to talk. Hard to figure out what you wanted. Hard to know what was happening, what he expected. You laughed a little, hoping that he would too, and that this would be a joke, but he didn’t. You broke, shaking your head and whining. “It’s too… too embarrassing.” 

“For you, maybe. I mean, jeez, talk about desperate. You really want me, huh?”

“I… I don’t know if… I shouldn’t.”

“God, it’s like pulling teeth,” Buggy said, pulling his hand out from between your legs. “Wait, there’s an idea. Should I go get the pliers? Will that get me a straight answer out of you?”

You swallowed hard, trying to focus on anything other than the zapping memory of his hand down your shorts. If you didn’t want something, you already would have left, your body wouldn’t be singing and surging to get more of his touch. But you couldn’t say that you wanted to go further either because you could not imagine or conceptualize that happening. More than anything, you didn’t want to be alone. You didn’t want to disappoint him. The idea of being touched drove you wild, but there was a sickness in your stomach that was only getting worse. 

“Listen, babydoll,” Buggy told you, his voice lowering, steady like he was talking to a frightened animal. “I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do, but I’m really hard right now so I’m gonna come. You can either stay here and come with me or get the hell out of here.” As much as you could feel Buggy trying to maintain composure, it wasn’t working.

You closed your eye, trying to think, just to scrape together a single coherent thought that would help you figure out what to do, but instead you thought of the warehouse. The air stank of wet rot and ocean air and old metal. “New girl,” Buggy had called, snapping to beckon you closer. Randall knelt on the ground. Pathetic and powerless, groaning in pain. You obliged then, rushing to Buggy’s side, your feet crunching on the broken glass and chunks of old building. Buggy didn’t look angry, not like you feared he would. Instead, he smiled. It was a mean smile, a frightening one. But a smile all the same, a gruesome expression meant to set you at ease, and maybe to keep himself composed. “Are you ready for your big moment?”

“So, uh,” Buggy, the real one, the one sitting beneath you watching with expectant eyes, said, licking his lips, “which is it?”

There was only one answer, there had only ever been one. You didn’t know. These things, your choices, weren’t for you to make. So you didn’t know. Not then and not now. Instead, you took the knife he offered and asked for him to show you how. Instead, you pressed yourself closer to him, hoping that he would decide, desperate for him to choose for you. Buggy moaned, his hips rolling upward to meet yours. He caught himself quickly, practically growling in frustration. 

“Fuck… Stop,” Buggy told you in a rough voice, grabbing you by the back of the hair to force you still. “I need you to tell me what you want. Out loud. Right now, so it's on the record.”

“I want,” you told him in a weak voice, stopping there as you tried to find the right words.

“Yeah?” He prompted you.

“I want…” The words sounded so far away, like it wasn’t really you speaking them at all, as if you were trying to guess the right answer. “I want you, Captain Buggy. Anything you want, I’m yours.” 

“Finally!” Buggy said with a hoarse laugh, shaking you back and forth. “See how easy it is when you allow yourself to be honest?”

Easy. It was easy, of course it was easy, of course you wanted to give him whatever he wanted, especially if it was you. Anything, anything, everything. Buggy grabbed you by the hips to spin you around, dropping you onto the bed. You landed on your back and bounced twice, dizzy from the sudden shift. Buggy was already kneeling between your legs by the time you blinked your vision clear, roughly getting out of his pants. 

“Since we’re being honest now, I’ll tell you something too—I’m glad this is your first time,” Buggy told you, flinging off his shirt before getting you out of yours. He didn’t undress you with any grace, pulling your shirt and undershirt off in a twisted bundle of fabric, leaving you half naked to his manic, hungry eyes. “Opening night is special,” he continued, licking his lips. “It’s something that nobody has ever seen before. Sure, it lacks the polish of later shows, but there’s beauty in that. It’s real, it’s raw. This, right now, is your debut, babydoll. I wanna see you come. Once, maybe twice just to start because then I’m going to fuck you and that…” Buggy laughed, pulling off one boot and tossing it behind himself with a thump before taking the other. You sat up, trying to cover your chest, only to be knocked back down when he grabbed the waistband of your shorts and underwear to pull them down your thighs, curling your legs up to shake you out of them. “It might hurt, after all of this teasing I don’t think I’ll be able to hold myself back. But that’s good. You want it to hurt, it should hurt—pain is how good art is made.”

Before you could respond to that, he descended upon you. Not a kiss this time. At least, not a kiss on the lips. While his fingers trailed up your thigh, his mouth latched on your neck. The same moment he found your entrance, his teeth dug into your sensitive skin. When he began to suck, his fingers trailed upward to land on your clit.

You might have wailed, if only you had enough air in your lungs to do so. He only got a sharp, pathetic whine and more nervous giggling, your hips jumping up into his hand. Somewhere inside of your swimming mind, there was a thought. A spark of one, a bit of consciousness that had no real conclusion before it bubbled out of your mouth in a string of stuttered “I…I…I…”  while your hands gripped desperately at his shoulders. He kept rubbing your clit and you knew, logically, that it would feel better if you stayed still, but you couldn’t. 

Buggy pulled away from your neck with a slick pop. “Can you…fuckin’...can you settle down? I can’t do this with you trying to buck me off.” 

You meant to tell him that it wasn’t your fault, that you couldn’t keep still, but the only response your drugged brain could manage was a nervous smile and hiccup. Making a sound of frustration, Buggy sat up and grabbed you by the waist to pull you down, his forearm settling across your pelvis to keep your hips flat. With his weight pinning down one leg and your other shoved aside by a not so gentle slap, you couldn’t go anywhere. So you whined, giving up and covering your face with your hands instead. 

Buggy laughed. “Don’t act so pathetic, I know you love this. You're sooo sensitive," he said, lazily pushing a finger into your pussy before dragging it out. Letting his fingers glide between your folds with an agonizingly light touch, drawing little circles over your swollen clit. Again and again and again and- "I’m barely doing anything and you're practically having a seizure down there." 

You whimpered, squirming beneath him to no avail. He had your hips completely immobilized. Buggy laughed again, slowly sinking his fingers into your pussy. Two of them now. Two calloused fingers to press deep into you, to seek out the spongy spot as they curled and thrust in and out. Slow, painfully slow. There was nothing you could do about it. Push at his shoulders with shaking hands, arch your back to nowhere, shake your head back and forth like it mattered, like he cared. You tried to laugh like he did, needed to diffuse some of the scorching tension, but the sound was breathy and high pitched and it wasn’t funny, it was torture. 

Buggy’s fingers finally broke the slow pace to practically slam into you, and it sounded disgusting. Wet, harsh. You couldn’t stop shaking, and there wasn’t enough air, your lungs were being collapsed by the weight of the drug. Despite that, despite everything, your pussy squeezed his fingers, only getting wetter the rougher he got. The noises you made, the mewling and the whining and the moaning, were practically innocent compared to the loud squelching of each thrust.  

“It sounds like I’m plunging a fuckin’ toilet,” Buggy said, laughing.

You pressed your palms against your eyes as if that would hide you, caught between humiliation and need. “I’m s-ss-sorry,” you babbled. “It’s… gross… I’m sorry, please just… Stop, it’s—”

“Stop?” he repeated. “Is that what you just said? You’re giving me orders now?” He slowed down, only to add another finger. The frantic rise of tension had your heels digging into his bed, your hands unable to decide if you wanted to cover your face or claw at the sheets. 

“No! No, no no—” What were you even denying at this point? It was all incoherent anyway, and you knew you didn’t actually mean it.

“Do you know when I’m gonna stop?” Buggy asked. “After you come all over my hand. So quit yer yappin’ and hurry it up.”

Your whimper was barely audible, but it was one of resignation. He was right, the slick squelching sounds really did conjure the worst imagery. But, somehow, not even that killed your building orgasm. Neither did the musky smell, or the gross feeling of your sweat soaking into his bedding. It was all just sex and, right then, it was hot. You couldn’t focus on anything other than the tightening coil in your core, not even the man fucking you with three fingers, going hard enough to hurt, hooking and curling with each thrust to grind them against the spongy spot inside of you. The only thing that mattered was the pleasure that sat on the very tip of your tongue and how badly you needed it. To please him, to end this embarrassing torment, to stop inconveniencing him. You had no idea if it was what you wanted but, one way or another, your body would expel the foam in your head, the need in your belly. Come or throw up or scream. 

With a choked yelp, you came. Your back arched, your body fighting against Buggy’s hold. You had one hand across your face while the other desperately clawed at the sheets and you wanted to fuck yourself on his fingers, to meet them with each thrust, but you couldn’t move your hips. All you could do was take what you were given, endure the helplessness, the sticky waves of pleasure. 

And then it was over, just hot air and sweat.

There was a sense that you were not yourself, like you had been unbound from your existence as a person. But also one that stitched you into your hot, heavy skin so tightly that you knew you could not ever be somebody else. The lucidity of the feeling killed your desire, you needed a break. You needed to breathe. 

“No more,” you told him, trying to squirm away, to grab his hand. “Please, I… Please, no more.” 

“That was it? Seriously?” Buggy asked, incredulously amused. His fingers did slow down, stroking your g-spot in a way that made you twitch uncontrollably. “You just came?” 

“I’m sorry,” you said breathlessly, covering your face with your trembling hands.

Buggy laughed in delight. “No, it was,” he said, finally pulling his fingers out and taking his weight off of you, “weirdly adorable. I was just joking about the puppy thing earlier, but you’re kind of proving my point. Girls usually, you know, moan. Or scream or something, I don’t know. What is it, do you think? The daddy issues? Or is it ‘cause I’m the first guy to make you come? Don’t get me wrong, I liked it, it was fuckin’ hot, but now I’m curious. Do you think you can moan like a normal girl at all, or are you just gonna keep whining the whole time?”

“I, um… I-I don’t,” were the only words you could muster as you stared at him, completely still. For a couple of seconds you had fooled yourself into thinking you had escaped the red stained-glass fog of the drug, but the vulgarity drew you right back in, enveloping you in its humid dusk.  

Buggy grinned, a mad expression. “Guess we’ll find out.” 

When he pulled off his underwear, you didn’t know if it was okay for you to look or not, your eye flicking nervously from his smile to the pale expanse of his torso, following the trail of hair that led down, and down. His cock bobbed up the moment it was free. It was more intimidating of a sight than you thought it would be, giving you that uncanny sense of vertigo, like staring down a very high cliff into some unknown abyss. This was wrong. Buggy clearly had no such reservations, spitting into his hand to stroke his dick as he loomed above you. 

“You’ve got me in a romantic mood, you can stay just like that,” Buggy said as he crowded you further up the bed. You stared up at him, stiff and too nervous to move. He frowned. “Okay, well I didn’t mean literally just like that, you’re gonna have to make some room for me.” He gave you a second before huffing in irritation, rolling his eyes. “Fuckin’ virgins.”  

Buggy grabbed you, hauling you up the bed to drop you unceremoniously into the pillows. You squeaked, trying to hold onto him while he hiked your legs up his waist. Breathing was difficult, all of the air smelled like Buggy and sex and you were so, so aware of the way it pressed slowly out of your chest. He released your right leg to grab his cock, slicking it between your folds. That made you gasp sharply, your fingers digging into his back. 

“Are you trying to scratch me?” Buggy asked, amused but distracted as kept nudging his dick between your folds, his hips rolling forward when it caught on your entrance. 

“I… I’m… No-hh—I-I-” Any part of your mind that was still functioning was focused entirely on the pressure of his cock as he pushed forward again, pressing it a little deeper. 

“I don’t mind it,” Buggy told you, “but fair’s fair.” He punctuated that word with a harder thrust, pushing his cock past the initial resistance of your entrance. Your eye widened, a sound of surprise practically punched out of your body with the shock of it. His fingers had not at all prepared you for what it would feel like. The insistence. The weight. Buggy smiled, watching your face as his hips rolled forward. 

This time, you whined, squeezing your eye shut and digging your fingers into his back, your pussy unintentionally tightening around him which only made the discomfort that much worse, but you couldn’t force your body to relax and you honestly didn’t know if you were trying to push him out or pull him deeper.

“No, look—look at me,” Buggy demanded hoarsely, hiking your right leg back up his waist, not moving until you met his demand. You let out a shuddering breath and opened your eye, looking up at him through tear coated lashes. His eyes were familiar to you, but not like this. In the dim light, all that remained was their devious sparkle, his hunger, his all-consuming lust. You tried to keep your expression composed, to hide your embarrassing reactions, but it was all in vain. The leverage made it easier for him to rock his hips forward, his cock driving deeper, and your expression crumpled as you cried out, you couldn’t help yourself. 

The intimacy Buggy demanded of you while splitting you apart became intolerable. You tried to rear back, your back arching beneath him, but Buggy grabbed your jaw to keep you from looking away, to keep you from hiding. You tried to tell him that it was too much, too heavy, too big, too overwhelming, but you couldn’t find the words before he was already thrusting forward again, filling you more and more, his entire body covering yours, his eyes devouring your reactions. He watched with parted lips, his eyebrows raised in some sort of needful appeal. It felt so cruel, but Buggy didn’t look at you cruelly.

It was too much to bear, let alone understand. Giving up on begging him to slow down, you tried to push at his abdomen. Buggy wasn't bothered by it, or by the scrape of your nails along his back, it was like he didn’t even notice.

“Cap-tain,” you whined, the word broken in your mouth, squished from the grip he had on your jaw. When he moved, you could feel how you were shaking beneath him, around him, your heartbeat thumping hot blood between your legs. The pressure was intense, unfamiliar. You whimpered, your back restlessly arching, your free hand clawing at his shoulder. “I… It's… Too much…”

“Yeah?” Buggy asked, managing a smile before that became another moan. “You’re so fuckin’... Fuck.” 

It was impossible to not respond to the overt sound of his pleasure, your pussy clenching around him, soaking his cock. It sounded filthy. You opened your mouth to say something and, like he’d been waiting for it, Buggy released your jaw, his hand resting beneath your chin to push your face up so he could kiss you instead. His tongue in your mouth was just as invasive as his cock in your pussy, it felt more like he was trying to eat you, to devour you, leaving you no space to breathe or think or react. You could feel every grunt and groan, feel the way he reacted to every little sound you made. 

There was no refinement to it, no mercy, no thought given to anything other than animal instinct and need. Buggy was barely even pulling out, grinding himself into you as deep as possible over and over and over and it was maddening because he wasn’t slamming his cock into you the way he had with his fingers and that should have been easier to take, but there was no release, just more and again. 

When he pulled away from the kiss, giving you a few moments to catch your breath, you threw your head back to keep him from kissing you again, worried that you’d pass out from the lack of air. Buggy groaned in irritation, punishing you with a hard thrust. And then another, and another. Skin slapping and squelching and your confused yelps of pleasure or pain.

“I-I—I can’t, I…” Your nails dug into his back, his shoulders, not to make him stop or even slow down, but because you had no other way to express what you felt. “Too much, i’ss—”

Buggy grunted, grabbing your legs again to pull them back up, changing the angle. The surprise zip of pleasure struck hard, making you moan loudly and openly, your wide eye meeting his. Buggy’s lips twitched almost like a smile, a little look of victory at getting such an unabashedly slutty reaction from you. You couldn’t take it back, and he knew he had an advantage, exploiting it with every thrust. 

“Come on,” Buggy said, his voice labored and heavy. “Admit it… You love this. You wanted me to fuck you from… from the day we met. You’re a freak.”

“Captain… Buggy please,” you begged, whining his name desperately in a voice that sounded so unlike your own. None of you really felt familiar, not your voice or your body or the sensations. Maybe it was someone else and you were only along for the ride, that would explain why you lacked any and all control over your body, why you could feel the torturous build of pleasure in your core in spite of the discomfort or fear or uncertainty, why you had been driven to true delirium from the way his cock ground against your walls like his fingers had, another point of excess stimulation on top of the overwhelming fullness. You could feel your pussy squeeze around him, feel the fresh wave of slick arousal that coated his cock, spilling out around the seams. You had no control, there was nothing for you to do but hang on and accept what had become helplessness in its purest form.

Buggy laughed, a hoarse, mean sound that stuttered with each thrust before leveling into a moan. You couldn’t help but whimper in turn, your hips moving to meet each rocking thrust, your thighs trembling with how hard they were clamped around his waist. If you let go, you worried that you’d never stop falling, that you would be lost because there was nothing else. 

“Buggy,” you whined. “Buggy, I…”

He groaned low, grabbing your hand to hold it with your fingers entwined, pinning it by your head. By now you were chest to chest, both of you sweaty enough to be slick, your breathing dangerously unsteady, lungs puffing the sweltering air. He was kissing you, but every part of your functional mind that still worked was focused on coming. Buggy didn’t seem to mind your preoccupation, content to kiss your open mouth, content to swallow all of your moans. You didn’t think it was physically possible to be closer to another human being, you could feel his heart beating within your own heavy ribcage, feel the rush of his blood through your veins. There was nothing left of you without him.

So, then, you couldn’t do anything else, there was no choice, just that anxious need, some wild feeling that you’d scream if you couldn’t come. After teetering so close for a frightening few seconds, that was the thought that tipped you over the edge, your body tensing and seizing beneath him, disturbing your synchronization as your pussy spasmed around him, your hands holding onto his back in a death grip, pleasure rippling through you, stoked over and over again by the relentless weight of his cock. When you were done whimpering and whining and writhing your way through your orgasm, your body going limp beneath him, Buggy released you from the kiss. You saw a thick strand of saliva pop between you as he pulled away. 

“Did you just… come?” he asked breathlessly, incredulously.

You nodded, gasping for air, your glassy eye swirling with moving colors, your hazy mind unable to focus on anything while he was still inside you. 

“Guess that answers that question then,” Buggy muttered. Laughing as he began fucking you again, laughing and then moaning, his thrusts less targeted and more indulgent. All he had to do was get his hand on your jaw to remind you to look at his eyes. It made you choke, whimpering as the wake of your orgasm faded into overstimulation all over again. The intensity of too much combined with the trembling pleasure-pain, all of it twisted and hazy red, a world filtered and scattered, intangibly delicious but also anxious and frightening. 

Buggy fucked into you selfishly now, his hands digging bruises into your thighs, his thrusts jarringly rough and without any rhythm you understood. But the sounds he made, you liked those. They were almost pained, rising in pitch as he got closer. Lustful appetite in its most crude and feverish form. 

“Buggy,” you whined, scrambling to hold onto him, to mitigate the violence of his desire. “Buggy, please-” 

He moaned loudly, crushing you, claiming you with his open mouth on yours, all teeth and tongue and hunger. Using you, sparing you no soft affection when he came, burying his cock as deep as possible for those final few sporadic thrusts. 

You thought you could feel it, feel his cock twitch inside of you, but maybe it was just your imagination. How could you feel anything other than the steady throbbing between your legs? 

Buggy groaned, breathing hard. A second later, he pulled out and flopping onto his back beside you, either missing or ignoring your wince of pain. You covered your face with your hands, willing the world to fall away. You couldn’t understand it anyway, what was the point?

“I was thinking of a more appropriate title for your job,” Buggy said between ragged breaths. “I get worried that-that people might expect too much from you. So I was thinking something like Buggy the Clown’s Cocksleeve or—or the Flashy Fool’s Fucktoy. But just now, it came to me-” He snapped his fingers. “Captain Buggy’s Cock Puppet.” He turned his head to look at you, grinning. “Eh?” 

A hard shiver worked down your spine. “That’s gross,” you muttered.

He huffed, annoyed by your answer. “It’s pretty bold to act like a prude when you were creaming all over my dick a couple minutes ago.”

You groaned, covering your face again. 

“We’ll work on that,” Buggy said, sitting up. You opened your eye, watching him roll his neck and arms, his shoulders popping. His hair was a mess, a lot of it had come loose, he had to fight against the hair tie to get it out, swearing at it before the thing snapped and he threw it somewhere to the side. You were too sleepy and dazed to care that you were staring at him, admiring him. You did admire him, even if he said things you wished he wouldn’t, or did things you didn’t like. You admired him as your captain. And he was beautiful. 

Buggy rolled off the bed. He wore his nudity without a shred of shame. You watched as he poured himself a big cup of water from the jug, downing it all in a steady stream of gulps.  

“Thirsty?” he asked, shooting you a look over his shoulder. 

You pushed your hair off of your sweaty face, the world spinning spectacularly as you sat up, and nodded. He filled the cup again as you crawled to the edge of the bed, wincing at the sharp pain between your legs, the wet mess coating your thighs.

“Drink up, you were leaking pretty bad from both ends tonight,” Buggy joked as he helped hold the cup steady in your shaking hands. You hummed, not really caring about his words because the water was the best thing you had ever tasted in your entire life, and it felt even better on your dry tongue and throat. He took it when you were done and you wiped your mouth, an anxious question forming in your mind. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to leave or not.

But you weren’t sure if you could move, either. Maybe you would just stay there forever. That didn’t sound too bad.  

Buggy turned off the lights and threw himself onto the bed, uncaring that he was lying in the mess the two of you had made or that he was sweaty and grimy.

“What are you doing?” he asked. 

What were you doing? Why were you here? What had you done? “I… um-”

“Yeah, I don’t actually care,” Buggy said through a yawn. “It’s been a long day and I’m wiped. Get up here.”

It took a moment for you to follow the simple order, but you managed to crawl up the bed. Rather than suffer your nervous attempts to find a spot that wouldn’t disturb him, Buggy grabbed you, pulling you against him like a child with a toy. He was hot and sweaty and the amount of weight he put on you wasn’t exactly comfortable, but you didn’t dare move—you didn’t want to move. His skin smelled like greasepaint and musk and sweat and gunpowder and leather and you drank it in, accepting your discomfort because it was Buggy. 

In the swampish dark left behind in the red heat of passion, and especially in his arms, you thought about the affection you felt when you looked at him. It was only natural that you would love Buggy. Not as a lover, but as anybody would love their captain. To serve him as you had sworn, your love had to be absolute. But then you wondered what he felt for you. It would be too much and much too soon to ask for love, but surely there was something. 

You, with a shocking amount of clarity given the fogged state of your mind, decided that you would ask him and accept whatever answer he gave. Emboldened by that resolution, you looked at him. 

Buggy was already asleep.

[devilart2199-aibi]

IDW collection reading update! :^) 📖

Just finished Phase 2 volume 3! This volume included: The MTMTE 2012 Annual + issues 9-13, The RID 2012 Annual + issues 10-11, Signal to Noise and Spotlights: Thundercracker, Bumblebee and Megatron!

My thoughts will be below! ⤵️

MTMTE 2012 Annual:

Started off super wacky with Magnus 😂 Then got really interesting with Crystal City disappearing, The Metrotitan being underneath and the Galactic Council making their appearance! I liked how they tried to recruit Magnus and he said nah and smiled :)

RID 2012 Annual:

Absolutely LOVED the vintage/retro comic pages they did for the story/flashbacks of Nova's group!! Why so evil, but so cool looking?? I'm curious to see what all that with the Metrotitan and Starscream meant! 🤔

MTMTE 9-11:

Absolute banger. Probably one of my favorite stories so far!! I'm sorry but a murder mystery?? on Cybertron? in the past?? with stellar art!?! Sign me up any day.

Also it was great to finally learn more about Senator Shockwave and the rest of the Characters! Like Drift, Chromedome and Whirly! The back and forth with all the banter and the layers of fronts and corruption ahhh *chefs kisses*

Also I thought this ⬆️ was so cute bc it's a fact right out of Prowls characters bio/info sheet/page.

MTMTE 12:

This is the Surprise! Give you a mini heart attack issue lol Bc of my own silliness I was stressed the whole time reading it 😂 but it was really good!! We got to learn a bunch about Rewind. And that him and Chromedome are Conjunx' !! 🥺💞

MTMTE 13:

This was a super fun issue! I'm absolutely loving all this Magnus character time!!

The Holomatter Avatars were pretty funny 😂 Whirl was too adorable and I thought it was really sweet that Magnus chose to look like Verity 🥺 Uncle Magnus misses his kid.

I felt bad for Swerve ;_; also I'm excited to see more from Cyclonus and Tailgate!! This ship is full of liars lol 😂

RID 10-11:

10 was an issue where Orion (previously Optimus) is currently hunting down Jihaxus to get answers for stuff and things. There is quite a bit of time jumping back and forth which always gets me confused 😂 it was interesting tho!

Issues 11 Starscream takes action against his Deceptibros (Just Shockwave, Soundwave and their posse really) and I really look forward to his team up with Prowl, if it goes anywhere from here! Also Arcee killing more people rip Ravage, Frenzy and those other guys 🫡 and a wild Megatron makes a reappearance?!?!

Signal to Noise:

It was a little Lost Light interlude! It was from Rung's perspective. I feel like I haven't seen much from him specifically so it was pretty cool and interesting :> Like everything, I'm curious to see where it goes!

Spotlights:

Thundercrackers was enjoyable! It just reinforced that he was good leaning, or at least not one for senseless violence. I really like him and hope he makes a reappearance! I'm curious what he's up to on earth

Bumblebee's was fine. Him struggling to be the leader and feeling like he has to prove himself, but getting the job done!

Megatron's was a banger. I absolutely love his monologs. What he thinks of his Decepticons and the 'Pep talk' he gave Starscream to get him back to his usual self.

----

Final random thoughts:

Of all the storylines, MTMTE is still my favorite to read rn. I must admit, Rodimus tho is stressing me out as the leader 😂 I was gonna say my fav characters rn but, there are just too many haha

I've already hopped into volume 4 so I'll be seeing you soon with more ramblings! 👋

[charlosvibesonly]

Racing Hearts - Part 8

A Max Verstappen Imagine

Pairing : Max x fem! reader/driver

End Game

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Thank you to all you guys for loving Racing Hearts. It was so fun writing this. Ciao!

The paddock buzzed with whispers, and the air was thick with tension as the unexpected twist in the investigation sent shockwaves through the racing world. Red Bull, once on the pedestal of triumph, now found themselves on the precipice of scandal.

Article 1 - The Unraveling of Champions:

In a shocking turn of events, Red Bull Racing's triumphant champions, Max Verstappen and Y/N, find themselves ensnared in controversy. The media spotlight has shifted from their on-track victories to an investigation that threatens to tarnish their legacy.

Every move made by the once-celebrated duo is now under a microscope. From their pit lane conversations to their off-track interactions, no detail is too small to escape scrutiny.

Article 2 - Team Unity Tested:

Red Bull Racing, known for its unyielding team spirit, now faces a formidable challenge. The camaraderie in the garage, once a pillar of strength, is strained as doubt casts a shadow over the team.

Whispers of internal discord circulate as team members navigate the pressure. Will the unity that fueled their victories withstand the relentless storm of criticism?

Article 3 - Champions Under Fire:

The champions who once dominated the podium now find themselves defending not just their titles but their very reputation. Max Verstappen and Y/N are in the eye of a media storm that threatens to dismantle the success they worked tirelessly to achieve.

Critics question every decision, every statement, amplifying the strain on the champions who are accustomed to roaring engines, not deafening scrutiny.

Article 4 - Red Bull's Crisis Management:

With the championship-winning team in crisis, Red Bull Racing grapples with the fallout. The pressure to protect its image intensifies as media speculation reaches a fever pitch.

As the team navigates this uncharted territory, the question remains: Can they weather the storm and emerge stronger on the other side, or will the drama prove too much for the once-invincible Red Bull Racing?

Article 5 - Fragile Foundations:

The foundation of Red Bull Racing, built on triumph and unity, now faces its most formidable test. Max Verstappen and Y/N bear the weight of skepticism, their once unassailable reputation now hanging in the balance.

In the midst of this turmoil, the true measure of champions is revealed. Will they crumble under the pressure, or will they rise above, proving that even in the face of doubt, they remain a force to be reckoned with?

Max and you, once celebrated champions, now faced relentless scrutiny and criticism from the media. Every move was dissected, every word analyzed. The team rallied behind you, but the pressure threatened to tear everything apart.

Yet, the drama took an unexpected turn. A new piece of evidence emerged, seemingly casting doubt on Red Bull's innocence. The media frenzy escalated, and the weight of the situation became unbearable. 

The turning point came when an internal audit within Red Bull Racing uncovered irregularities in Max Verstappen's car from a previous race. The investigation revealed a potential breach of technical regulations, raising questions about the legitimacy of Max's victories.

In a surprising twist, the team decided to make this information public before the governing bodies could launch their own investigation. The move was an attempt at transparency, but it inadvertently ignited a media firestorm. Headlines screamed about Max's car possibly being in violation of the rules, casting doubt not only on his recent achievements but the entire team's credibility.

Max, sensing the potential damage to the team's reputation, made a bold and self-sacrificing decision.

In a press conference that echoed with the clamor of flashing cameras and probing questions, Max announced, "To protect the integrity of Red Bull Racing, I've decided to step away from the team temporarily while the investigation unfolds. I want the focus to be on racing, not distractions. I'll do whatever it takes to ensure Red Bull's legacy remains untarnished."

The room fell silent as the gravity of Max's sacrifice sunk in. The farewell was sudden and heart-wrenching.

The racing world, already shaken by the scandal, was now faced with the absence of one of its brightest stars. The headlines screamed of Max's sacrifice, but they couldn't capture the emotional weight of the moment.

Days turned into weeks, and the investigation continued. The absence of Max left a noticeable void in the team, and the once-united Red Bull Racing struggled to find its footing.

But then came the calm after the storm.

Headline: The Unraveling of Baseless Allegations

In a shocking revelation, the evidence that sent shockwaves through the racing world, casting doubt on Red Bull Racing's integrity, has been debunked. An internal re-evaluation by the governing bodies exposes the initial findings as groundless, leaving Max Verstappen and the team vindicated.

“Mercedes Issues Apology”

In an unprecedented move, Mercedes, the team that had been the primary voice behind the allegations, issued a public apology. Toto Wolff, team principal of Mercedes, conveys regret for the premature accusations and acknowledges the lack of concrete evidence against Red Bull Racing.

"In the spirit of fair play and competition, we must acknowledge when we are wrong," Wolff states. "Our initial concerns were based on incomplete information, and we sincerely apologize to Red Bull Racing, Max Verstappen, and the entire Formula 1 community for any distress our statements may have caused."

Max, having withdrawn from the limelight during the investigation, returned to Red Bull Racing with a mixture of relief and determination.

The racing community, having weathered the storm of controversy, was left to reflect on the implications of baseless allegations and the impact they can have on the integrity of the sport. 

But you two were far from everywhere. Far from the world of racing, in your world.

In Monaco, you were at Max's house overlooking the azure waters. The racing season had come to an end, and the echoes of the dramatic year lingered.

"I never thought we'd make it through," Max confessed, his eyes meeting yours on the balcony.

"Neither did I," you replied, a sense of shared resilience in your gaze.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow on the scene. Max wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer. "But here we are, stronger than ever."

It was race day. The Bahrain Grand Prix. Max and you were successfully navigating the ups and downs of your life together.

After the post-qualifying interview, Max pulled you away from the lively press room to a secluded, dimly lit room. He pushed you against the wall, sending a shiver through your body.

"So, Y/N, how about letting me win this time?" Max's words, warm against your ear, sent a rush of heat through you.

"In your dreams," you retorted.

Max's grin broadened, "This is going to be so much fun." Without hesitation, he pulled you into a kiss that defied the confines of the shadowy room. It was a fiery blend of desire and an energy that left you breathless.

When the kiss finally broke, Max locked eyes with you, a mischievous glint shining.

"Ready, partner?"

[chamm0y]

I screamed at the last panel I'm skybound 9..... he's back!! He's finally back and actually doing something! He hasn't been in anything significant since that one g1 ep. (Trying to not be spoilers but you know who I mean)

yeAH!! this comic is so catering to me SHAHSHAH im glad hes back on the spotlight, shockwave nation we are winning so hard rn, cant say that for my friends who are more autobot sided on this. rip ratchet and cliffjumper, people are sheding tears for you 🙏🏻

[minniethemoocherda]

TRANSFORMERS ONE TRAILER OPINIONS UNDER THE CUT

Cons: 

I love Bumblebee! He is one of my favourite Transformer characters! But even way back when this film was announced, I don’t think that he should have been in this particular movie. Hasbro said they were hoping to make a trilogy and I always thought it would’ve made more sense to introduce him in a sequel. I always thought it would have made more sense for Ratchet or Jazz or Dion to fill the role that he appears to be playing in this movie. And in general I feel Bumblebee is played a bit too OOC and kinda annoying. 

I am not a fan of the robot designs for the main four. I feel as though their silhouettes are all too similar. Remove the colours and I could not tell them apart. 

Also why is Elita-One a motorcycle? That’s Arcee’s vehicle! Why can’t see be truck like she usually is! 

Neutral:

The animation is definitely good quality, but after Spiderverse and Mutant Mayhem, I was hoping for something more stylised

I need to see more of Megatron before I form opinions of his portrayal here. 

I would prefer Orion to be a librarian but I’m interested to see him as a miner. At least they didn’t make him a fucking cop again. 

I was not expecting the Quintessons to show up. I like their designs but it makes me wonder what the overall plot of this film will be if it is going to be about the revolution at all? 

I hope we get a lot of cameos even if they don't get main roles!

Not sure how I feel about the lore changes of the Transformers not being able to transform until Alpha Trion gives them what looks like T-cogs (I hope they are not Matrixes).

But again a lot of the lore changes I can’t fully form opinions on until I see them fully explored in the movie.

 I liked what we saw of Orion and D-16’s dynamic so far but I can’t really have more of an opinion until we see more footage. 

Pros: 

I surprisingly really liked Chris Hemsworth as Orion both voice wise and what we’ve seen of his personality. 

Similarly I also really like ScarJo as Elita-One and her personality from what we have seen so far. And I love Elita so even having her here at all is fantastic!

I think the Starscream, Soundwave and Shockwave designs are great, much more distinctive! 

It is also cool to see Arachnid get a spotlight in the trailer! It would be cool to see her play a main role in the plot! 

I am interested to see how they explore Cybertron here! Especially with it having more integrated organic life than i was expecting as well as the fact that our main four have never been to the surface 

Overall I am very excited for the movie! I am aware that I am probably being too nitpicky. I think I have to accept that how I personally would have told this story is probably not how they are going to tell it. And its probably not going to be as mature as I had hoped. 

But regardless of the trailers I will be seeing this on opening day anyway lol

[danika-redgrave124]

Umbra Witch Yuu

Tags: @sapphirepastries @twisted-dreamscape @fungifanart

Here are the Staff Weapons for Umbra Witch Yuu. Next will be the side Characters.

Dire Crowley

Raven's Requiem

Dual pistols designed with sleek, black feathers and intricate Raven motifs. Each pistol is adorned with shimmering, dark feathers that give them a mysterious, ominous appearance.

Flocks of Shadow: Unleashes a swarm of spectral crows that evelop enemies causing continous damage and reducing visibility. The crows boost Yuu's evasiveness and speed while active.

Divus Crewel (Cruella De Vil)

Couture Chic

Dual whips with luxurious black and white designs. The handles ate adorned with faux fur and elegant patterns. Strikes release stylish energy slashes and create a dazzling display of elegance.

Spotlight Fury: Unleashes a flurry of strikes that dazzle and confuse enemies, temporarily enhancing Yuu's speed and evasiveness with a touch of fashionable flair.

Mozus Trein (Lady Tremaine)

Wicked Stilettoos

Dual slender swords with ornate handles and sharp, needle-like blades. Strikes are precise and calculated, leaving behind a trail of dark Enchantments.

Enchanted Malice: Unleashes a flurry of attacks that caused enemies to turn on each other briefly, temporarily increasing Yuu's agility and causing confusion among enemies.

Ashton Vargas (Gaston)

Hunting Crossbow

A powerful crossbow with a rugged, hunting-inspired design and adorned with antlers. Strikes release explosive bolts and create shockwaves.

Hunter's Pride: Unleashes a barrage of explosive bolts that cause widespread damaged, temporarily increasing Yuu's strength and attack power.

Sam (Dr. Facilier)

Shadowed Voodoo

A staff gun adorned with voodoo symbols and glowing with dark magic. Strikes release shadowy tendrils and mystical hexes.

Shadow Conjuration: Summons shadowy spirits that curse enemies, draining their energy and temporarily boosting Yuu's magical abilities.